Act II - The Price of Admirality
by ChrisTR
Summary: Voyager's involvement in the Dominion War deepens, and its crew is caught in the crossfire...
1. Default Chapter

The Price of Admiralty  
  
A StarTrek Novel  
  
Written by:  
  
ChrisTR  
  
Disclaimer : You know the drill…I own nothing, only my sinister view of the world  and some caracters, and the story, and the idea behind it…The rest, I borrowed it  and hope they don't sue me…  
  
Background : Well, this really is the continuation of another novel, so it would be advisable to read that one first. For those of you stubborn enough not to do so, here's a lil' summary :  
  
DS9 is still under occupation. The minefield is down, but the Prophets ridded the Federation of the Dominion reinforcements. Oh, yeah, perhaps the most important thing is that Voyager has returned to the Alpha Quadrant. Paris, Tuvok, Data and Crusher are on some sort of special mission for the Federation.  
  
Voyager and Enterprise-E have fought in the battle with the Defiant. When things were running badly indeed for the Feds, some 'old friends' appeared.   
  
And now the Continuation…  
  
  
  
Author's Note : Please excuse all sappiness. It was fully intentional.  
  
Feedback will be appreciated, enshrined, and carefully read! Feel free to write. You liked it? You hated it? You survived it? Tell me about it Everything, from praise to scorn, goes to: zenstolch@hotmail.com  
  
Dedicated to Gene Roddenberry, for having invented Star Trek and making us believe in a better future, as always, and to William H. Keith jr. and Micheal A. Stackpole, some of my favourite authors.  
  
Also I would like to thank William Shakespeare, who helped me greatly in my last effort, even if he doesn't know it…and to the many poets who will appear in this one...As well I would like to apologize to all those who can't stand poems and whom I will bother with lots of them…this time and forever and ever   
  
« Five hundred years ago, before the sailing-ship pioneers ventured into great waters, the oceans were an empty space, the only area of the world's surface in which men did not deploy military force against each other. In a future war, the oceans might appear empty again, swept clear both of merchant traffic and of the navies which have sought so long to protect it against predators. Yet the oceans' emptiness will be illusory, for in the deeps new navies of submarine warships, great and small, will be exacting from each other the price of admiralty. »  
  
- John Keegan.  
  
« No, great king :  
  
I come to thee for charitable license,  
  
That we may wander o'er this bloody field  
  
To book our dead, and then to bury them ;  
  
To sort out nobles from our common men,  
  
For many of our princes, -woe the while !-  
  
Lie drown'd and soak'd in mercenary blood ;  
  
So do our vulgar drench their peasant limbs  
  
In blood of princes.  
  
O give us leave great king,  
  
To view the field in safety, and dispose  
  
Of their dead bodies. »  
  
-William Shakespeare, Henry V.  
  
Chapter 1 – Aftermath   
  
The stars sprinkled faintly, like small pin-pricks, distributed among the dark coat of night.  
  
Between them, outside in the void, the once-proud remains of far too many Starships floated through space, lifeless, dark. The traces of the long battle they had fought, clearly visible on their hulls, the wrecks slowly moved among the stars.   
  
The ghostly scene was intensified by small glimmers of light, appearing every now and then, partially hidden by the remains of the wrecks' outer hulls.  
  
Jean-Luc Picard silently watched the scene displayed on Enterprise's view-screen. The same, hollow feeling gripped him, that had taken control of him almost 8 years before. The same emotitions spilled over him, that had overwhelmed him when he had seen the battlefield of Wolf359, after StarFleet's defeat by the Borg, and after the war. Only this time, the losses were heavier. Much heavier.  
  
When he saw the dreadfull silhouette of a Romulan Warbird moving between the dead, he gulped nervously.  
  
Who'd have thought that the Federation might receive help from that source?  
  
The Warbird moved towards them, dodging the debris crossing their paths. Jean-Luc noticed some green-coloured pieces floating in front of the two ships.  
  
The Romulans had gotten their shares, as well.  
  
The Romulans.  
  
Sela.  
  
It seemed like yesterday to Picard. Not many years ago, they had met Sela once. During the Klingon Civil War, Sela appeared, claiming to be Tasha Yar's daughter. Nobody believed her at the beginning, but Guinan had told him that she believed Sela. True enough, Sela's story had sounded unlikely, but not totally impossible. She had pretended that in an alternative reality, Picard had sent Tasha Yar back to the past, on board the Enterprise-C. During the defense of a Klingon outpost at Narendra III against a Romulan attack, the Enterprise-C had laid the foundation for the Alliance between the Klingons and the Federation. But in combat, the Enterprise was destroyed. Tasha had survived, along with few others, and had ended up as spouse of the Romulan commander that attacked them. One night, Tasha and her daughter, Sela, had tried to flee. They had been caught, Tasha Yar executed. During the War, Sela had helped the Duras house by equipping and supprting them in their struggle to win the Klingon Empire.   
  
The plan had failed. A Federation Task Force had sealed the Klingon-Romulan border with a Tachyon detection-grid. The effect of that grid was to nullifie the Romulan cloaking. It had suceeded. Sela had to break off, and Gowron had been named Chancellor.  
  
Driven by her bitter disappointment, Sela had worked hard to elaborate a plan to destroy the Federation, and had almost succeeded in doing so, when she kidnapped Spock, Picard and Data on Romulus, and sent an occupation army to conquer Vulcan. This plan too failed.  
  
She had warned them they would meet again.  
  
Now they had.  
  
The sounds coming from Tactical brought Picard back to reality.  
  
'Sir,' his First Officer said 'a message from Admiral Haze. We are ordered to fall back to StarBase 89.' Will grunted 'Attack, fall back. Advance, fall back. I tell you that's becoming our favourite tune.'  
  
'They better do something about it.' Geordi remarked. 'Or soon, the only tune we'll be singing will be… '  
  
***  
  
'...Hail the Conquering Dominion.' Julian finished.  
  
'That's not fair Julian.' Dax remarked 'After all, we just won a great victory.'  
  
***  
  
'Great victory!' B'Elanna spat the word out 'Yeah. Right. And at what cost? We lost hundreds of ships, and we still needed the Romulan's help.'  
  
Chakotay heard the despise in his friend's voice.   
  
Unlike other Klingons, B'Elanna did not always despise the Romulans because of what they were. At the moment, she despised them for helping the Federation, strange at it seemed.  
  
Janeway sighed. 'Set a course for SB89. Maximum Warp.'  
  
***  
  
Jean-Luc nodded towards the Lieutenant currently manning Tactical.  
  
'Tell our Romulan friends to accompany us to SB89.'  
  
'Aye sir.'  
  
'Warp 8. Engage.'  
  
***  
  
'Engage.'  
  
***  
  
On board the Salatrel, Colonel Sela paced her bridge.  
  
'Sir,' Varel, her First Officer reported 'the Enterprise is ordering us to follow them to StarBase89. Ordering. Us!'  
  
Sela could her the disgust in the young woman's voice. It was obvious that she did not like taking orders from a StarFleet officer.  
  
'At ease Varel.' She soothed 'It is in our own interest to help the Federation.'  
  
'I know that sir, but it doesn't make the whole thing more comfortable.'  
  
'We are at war, Varel. War never is comfortable.'  
  
Apparently Varel heard the unspoken threat in Sela's voice, for she did not bother to reply to her.   
  
'The High Consul on Romulus has decided to help the Federation. It is of no importance if you like it or not. We will follow the orders. Is that clear ?'  
  
'Totally, Colonel,' Varel said, pronouncing Sela's rank perhaps a bit more than necessary.   
  
Grimly satisfied by her reaction, Sela turned away.   
  
'Navigator, lay in a course for SB89. Go to cloak before we go to Warp.'  
  
'Confirmed.'  
  
The lights on the bridge dimmed, and Sela could hear the soft, soothing hum of the cloaking device, ready to work.  
  
'As our dear Captain Picard likes to say : Engage.'  
  
Sela smiled mysteriously.  
  
***  
  
The Salatrel shimmered out of existence, yet one could observe her warp engines glooming greenly, as she went to Warp, before she disappeared.  
  
She blazed among the stars, leaving no wake of rainbow light, nor any other sign of her passing.  
  
She was fully cloaked.  
  
In Federation Space.  
  
Which could be construed by some as an act of war.  
  
Which it was.  
  
Though the war was not against those who dreaded it thus.  
  
Not yet.  
  
***  
  
The elegant disc of Terok Nor slowly spun around it's horizontal axis, circled by an armada of Jem H'Adar Attack vessels and Cardassian heavy cruisers. One of the beige-painted ship, long, slender and dreadful in shape, was currently attached to one of the upper pylons of the station. When Terok Nor was built, it's goal, like that of all Cardassian, had been war and occupation. Its goal showed itself in its design, practical, and with no trace of the elegance most StarFleet or even Romulan ships showed. It was therefore no surprise that the duranium-white starships of the Federation, in many cases, did not fit in with the station, the different senses of aesthetics being too different. On the other hand, the Galor-class destroyers and cruisers, deadly instruments of mass destruction, and visibly so, were the perfect match for the station, in itself anther sign of Cardassian imperialism. Terok Nor had once orbited Bajor, as the outermost and most visible sign of Bajor's conquest by Cardassian forces, as military outpost, as refinery for the ore mined on the planet itself, and as an instrument of the oppression of the Bajorans. Though the station had never reached, in measures of cruelty and industrial genocide, the perfection of the work-, concentration-, and death-camps on Bajor itself, it had been dreaded among Bajorans. Going to the station had meant death for over one third of those who were forced to work in its refineries. When it had come under Federation command, the station's reputation had improved somewhat, and had somehow become a week-end attraction for Bajorans.  
  
Today, again under Dominion rule, Terok Nor fared little better than seven years ago, when it still was Cardassian. Though the Dominion had kept its part of the treaty it signed with Bajor, and had not invaded the planet, many Bajorans did not like their new allies, and resented that their first and only space station had been taken away from them again. Still, many Bajorans kept visiting tit, and since they were not arrested, they lived, to tell the tale that the old Deep Space station hand not become totally uninhabitable for Bajorans.  
  
So, the traffic to and from the station, though not flourishing as before, was still existent.  
  
When close enough, one could see the activity on it's deck through the giant windows.  
  
Figures were moving past them, some of them armed, some not.   
  
On its Ops, Damarr and the rest of the Alphashift suffered from one of Gul Dukat's anger attacks.   
  
'Where, by the Firefalls of Chun D'Ai, did that ship come from?' he yelled.   
  
'I don't know sir.' Damarr responded carefully 'The Romulans-'  
  
'The Romulans did not interfere in this whole damn WAR ! Why did the green-blooded keltaqs have to do it right now ?'  
  
Damarr briefly considered giving an answer, but then decided that perhaps it was wiser to stay silent.  
  
'Someone answer me!' Dukat shouted.  
  
'Dukat.' The cold, calm voice of the Founder rang across the ops, almost palpable.  
  
When he heard the Founder, Dukat surprisingly controlled himself enough not to attack her. 'What?'  
  
'Instead of wasting our time here, you should consider finding out what happened to our remaining ships. Your incompetence shows itself clearer and clearer.'  
  
For some seconds, it looked like Dukat was ready to kill the Founder with his bare hands, but he restrained himself and merely stared at her.  
  
She smiled.  
  
'See to it.'  
  
***  
  
Darkness.  
  
It was dark, when Tom Paris regained consciesness.   
  
It lasted several seconds until he realized that he still had his eyes closed. He opened them.  
  
He shut them again. He thought he was hallucinating.  
  
He opened his eyes again, and he finally realized that what he saw was the floor, its different parts quickly crossing his field of vision.  
  
When he could feel his limbs again, he felt strong hands gripping his arms, and dragging him over the floor.  
  
Tom was too weak to struggle.   
  
After considering briefly what had to be done, he decided that he hadn't really got any options.  
  
He closed his eyes again, and let the guards drag him away.  
  
***  
  
When the doorbell to his office chimmed, CounterAdmiral Owen Paris looked up from the PADD he was currently reading, and called the late visitor in.  
  
He was surprised when he saw FleetAdmiral Haze, his superior officer and long-time friend enter the room. The painful look on his face did not indicate good news. Owen got up, and stood to attention. 'Sir.'  
  
'At ease, Owen, at ease.' Paris gestured towards the couch, indicating his friend to sit. Then he went over to the replicator.  
  
'Computer, 2 cups of tea, Earl Grey, hot.'  
  
When the cups materialized before him, he took them, walked over to the couch, handed the older man one of the steaming cups, and sat down beside him.  
  
'So, what bad news are waiting for me Bob ?' Owen asked.  
  
Robert Haze smiled bitterly. 'We just received word from the front line. The battle was...a succes. In a way. The Dominion forces are retreating. But the price was high, too high. Out of 617 ships, we lost 214. Practically every ship left, badly needs repairs. We're not entirely sure how many the Klingons lost, but their losses should be equally high as ours. Thanks to their 'heroism' probably more. We suspect around 247 out of roughly 350.'  
  
'250 ships? That leaves them with only 1 fleet left. Plus the one that stayed in Klingon space.'  
  
'I know.' Haze sighed sadly 'Oh, I know. I'm afraid soon we have to help our allies.'  
  
'How many people know about this ?'  
  
'Not many. The Klingons will never admit how weak they really are. And if we did, I'm afraid morale would sink even further.'  
  
Owen nodded slowly.  
  
'What are they going to do now ?' he asked.  
  
'I suppose they are going to withdraw their ships to Quo'nos. To protect it.'  
  
Admiral Paris nodded slowly. 'They're effectively retreating out of this war. I can't say I blame them. If I were they, I too would try to protect Earth in the first place.'  
  
'Which means, we must now consider our strategy. We can no longer count on the Klingons. It will undoubtedly surprise you to hear we had some help lately.'  
  
Owen raised an eyebrow.  
  
'The Romulans have interfered with the battle. In essence they have saved us.'  
  
Owen Paris scratched his chin. 'The Romulans. I thought they behaved neutral in this conflict.'  
  
'Well, obviously, they don't. At least not anymore. I've ordered the fleet to return to StarBase89. The Romulans too. Once they've arrived here, we'll know exactly what we're dealing with.'  
  
Robert Haze stood up and stretched himself. Before he turned to leave, he faced his friend one more time.  
  
'I have some other bad news for you. The Ketarra returned from Corvus II. Without the away-team. We suspect they have been either killed or captured. I'm sorry.'  
  
After an uncomfortable silence, Owen trusted his voice enough to speak. 'We're at war Admiral. Things like that happen. And, for their own sake, I hope they are dead.' Not believing his own words, Owne quickly added 'Goodnight sir.' And shut the door.  
  
His eyes were burning with unshed tears, but he refused to show any emotions, even to an empty room.  
  
Silently, he returned to his desk, and got back to his work.  
  
***  
  
When Thomas Paris heard a loud, disturbing noise, he opened his eyes again. He saw a heavy door being opened.  
  
The guards roughly pulled him to his feet, and brutally jerked him into the cell, slamming him to the floor again.  
  
With a loud, and sudden voice, the door shut again.  
  
Inside the cell, it was dark, the only light coming from an old-fashioned neontube.  
  
When he tried to sit up, he moaned in pain.   
  
'What have you bastards done to me ?' he shouted.  
  
He finally got to his feet and made his way back to the door, angrily slamming his fists into it, again and again.   
  
He couldn't bear it for long. Exhausted as he was, he stumbled backwards, the room spinning in front of his eyes.  
  
He would have fallen to the groung again, if it wouldn't have been for a pair of hands grabbing him softly from behind, and slowly lowering him against a near wall. He saw a dark figure kneeling in front of him, running her hands up and down his arm.  
  
Before he drifted into sleep, Tom could hear an unknown voice whispering to him.  
  
'Tom ?' it said.  
  
***  
  
« War is not "the extension of Politics  
  
by other means". The world would be  
  
easier to understandd if Clasuewitz'  
  
famous citation was true. His other  
  
formula "the political intent is the  
  
reason, war is the means by which this  
  
intent is realized" gives us a more  
  
precise and complex view of the problem. »  
  
-John Keegan, A history of Warfare  
  
*** 


	2. Chapter 2 - The Day Be Ours

Chapter 2 – The day be ours  
  
Thomas Eugene Paris' fingers glid expertly over the shuttles' helm controls. Behind him, the seven passengers on board were busy discussing the latest gossip concerning the shuttles' pilot, himself.  
  
It seemed people could never get enough rumours.   
  
When he checked his console, he noticed an incoming message.   
  
'Shuttlecraft Ares. This is Caldik Prime Station. You are cleared for final approach on Station. Welcome on Caldik Prime Lieutenant.'  
  
'Caldik, this is Shuttlecraft Ares. Beginning landing approach. How is the weather down there ?'  
  
'Shuttlecraft, Caldik. Acknowledged, landing approach confirmed. Incoming vector looks good. Weather here is good, Lieutenant, 34 degrees Celcius, no clouds, only some random storms over the landing zone.'  
  
'Sounds good, Caldik. Estimated time of arrival, 9 minutes.'  
  
'Acknowledged. Caldik Prime out.'  
  
Tom turned to the tall, dark-haired woman, sitting in the co-pilot's chair. 'Calm down, shenja. It's all routine.'  
  
The woman grunted in response. 'The last time you said that, baru, you got us caught in the middle of an ionic storm.'  
  
Tom chuckled. 'You heard the man, the weather is gorgeous. This is going to be a lovely, calm, flight.'  
  
'Yeah. Right.'  
  
***  
  
When Major Sela entered the room along with another Romulan female, everybody got to their feet.  
  
Without bothering to greet anyone, Sela walked nonchalantly over to an emoty seat, and sat down, casually crossing her arms before her chest, a smirk crossing her unreadable features.  
  
Surprised glances were exchanged by the present StarFleet officers as the other Romulan walked across the room, to stand behind Sela, and everybody took his relative place around the table.  
  
Picard looked questioningly at his two superior officers.  
  
Admiral Haze began talking as soon as everyone was seated.  
  
'Colonel..Sela.' He nodded in her direction. 'I suppose you know all of the present officers here.'  
  
'No, I don't.  
  
'Let me introduce them to you then. I take it you know Captan Picard and his crew.'  
  
The look she gave him and Picard was confirmation enough.  
  
'This is Captain Sisko, and-'  
  
'I know Captain Sisko.' After a quick glance at her fellow Romulan, she added 'I have...read about him. No, I would like to know who she is.'   
  
Katherine Janeway looked in surprise at this woman.  
  
'My name is Katherine Janeway, Captain of the Starship Voyager.'  
  
Sela raised an eyebrow.  
  
'The Voyager?' she asked calmly 'Aren't you and your crew supposed to be dead by now?'  
  
'We were.' Janeway replied as politely as she could. 'But we are better now.'  
  
Sela looked expectantly at her.   
  
'This is my first officer Chakotay.' Chakotay nodded-  
  
'And over here, we have Ensign Kim, and Lieutenant B'Elanna Torres, my Chief Engineer.'   
  
Sela ignored Chakotay and Kim, only looking briefly at the, but her gaze rested uncomfortably long on Torres.   
  
Haze spoke again. He looked at the older Romulan standing behind Sela.   
  
'Perhaps you would now like to introduce us to your assisstant ?'  
  
'No, actually I don't.' Everyone looked at her. 'Perhaps later.'  
  
***  
  
Tom Paris relaxed. The rest of the flight would be routine, he knew.  
  
He stretched himself in his chair, ostentatively crossing his arms in front of him, to prove it. He felt he began to like this new shuttle-prototype.  
  
'Relax.' He advised the dark-haired woman.   
  
'That's easy to say for you. ETA to landing zone ?'  
  
'Barely 2 minutes. We're flying at an altitude of 3000 feet.'  
  
'Watch your controls, baru.'  
  
'I'm watching them all the time. Listen ; we made it the whole way through without problems. The weather is great, no storms anywhere near. Nothing can possibly go wrong. Why do you hate shuttle-flights that much ?' Tom asked. But he regretted the question the moment it left his mouth.  
  
The woman shot him a deadly glance.   
  
'Have you already forgotten why I was sent to YarokII ?'  
  
'No. No I haven't.' He breathed deeply. 'Sorry. I...'  
  
He was interrupted by a mighty roar going through all the shuttle, followed by some rather violent jerks.  
  
The passengers in the rear were sent to the ground, and the same would have happened to Tom, if it weren't for the seat restraints.   
  
The woman beside him gave him a 'I warned you' look, then focused on her controls.   
  
'What on earth was that ?' she asked.  
  
'I don't know. Sensors show nothing. But we lost the impulse engines and inertial dampeners.'  
  
Behind him, the engineer team began to work on the consoles.  
  
Suddenly all the controls went dead.  
  
'What the hell happened now ?' Tom yelled 'We're falling like a rock.'  
  
'I don't know.' One of the engineers shouted back. 'It appears the new energy-conduits have broken down.'  
  
'Can you get engines and controls back online ?' Tom asked.  
  
'No sir. Thw whole system's fried.'  
  
The co-pilot looked at Tom. 'And what are you going to do now ?'  
  
Tom didn't bother to answer her. He was already frantically working to get his console working again. When he finally suceeded in doing so, he returned to his seat, and ran his fingers over the controls.  
  
'Are the guidance thrusters still working ?' he asked.  
  
'Barely. I can give you 30 seconds at most. After that, they're probably going to blow.'  
  
'Allright. That'll have to do it.'  
  
'What are you up to Tom ?' the woman asked.  
  
'I'm going to land this shuttle. Switching to glide-mode.'  
  
'Glide mode ?' the co-pilot asked incredously.  
  
'Got a better idea ? We're going to crash. We have to control it.'  
  
Seeing the planet's surface coming nearer and nearer, the woman shook her head. 'Nope.'  
  
'Start thrusters on my mark. 3,2,1, MARK.'  
  
'Thrusters activated.'  
  
'Allright, change course to 2-5-3 mark 4-2—'  
  
A sudden explosion shook the shuttle. Tom's display exploded in front of him, and he cried out in pain.   
  
He opened his eyes again, and saw the planet rushing towards them at an incredible speed. The last thing he saw before his eyes closed again was a worried face hovering above him.  
  
***  
  
'Tom ? wake up. Tom.'  
  
***  
  
'This is going nowhere!' Benjamin Sisko exclaimed angrily.  
  
Sela looked at him.  
  
'It isn't? Strange, I thought we were just making progress.'  
  
'Progress?' Sisko almost shouted at her. 'The only progress you have made so far is pushing me towards a nervous breakdown.'  
  
Admiral Paris sighed tiredly. 'Captain Sisko, please take your seat.'  
  
Reluctantly Benjamin went back over to his place. When he sat, Adm. Paris turned to their Romulan guest.   
  
'Major Sela, please. I really must ask you to co-operate.'  
  
Sela angrily waved him away. 'This is useless. The reason for the Empire's decision to enter the war are totally irrelevant. Humans. You have to make everything so complicated.'  
  
Torres looked at her. 'It wouldn't be that complicated if you decided to fill us in.' she proposed.  
  
Sela scanned the faces of all present officers. She detected exhaustion on each of them. This meeting was now going for over 2 hours, and they were still stuck at the same point.   
  
'I guess I have to, if I want this to come to a result.' She sighed. 'As you can imagine, our governement has followed the war since it's beginning. We have sent out ships to monitor your efforts, the Federation's, the Klingon's and the Cardassian's.' She sighed. 'As you all should know, the Romulan governement has not taken an active part in the war. The debacle the Tal Shiar and the Obsidian Order caused at the very beginning, made us careful. Instead, we preferred to observe. History has taught us not to act rashly, as you might know. We were...concerned about the outcoming of the war. You will have to admit, the Federation was, perhaps still is, on the brink of destruction. And if the informations I received from the Tal Shiar are correct, the Klingons already lost too many ships to be an effective allie. They are in essence, retiring out of this conflict.' Sela scanned the faces of the present officers and saw that most of them didn't know if what she said was true. When Sela saw the concerned look Admiral Haze gave Paris, she saw her statement proved. Owen Paris on the other hand, kept his best poker-face.  
  
'And what if the scenario you described were true?' he asked.  
  
'It is true. But, whatever may be, we are convinced that the Dominion will not stop once the Federation is conquered.  
  
And, despite your latest-' she paused briefly '-victory, the Dominion forces still outnumber you.'  
  
'So?' Sisko asked 'What do you suggest ?'  
  
'We suggest to reconsider the current political situation between both our gouvernements.' The words were spoken rashly, in one breath, but they seemed nevertheless to hover above the conference table, almost palpable.   
  
'Are you proposing an Alliance ?' Admiral Haze asked incredously.  
  
'I believe they are. It would be the...logical thing to do,' a new voice said. All heads turned around to the door, silently greeting the newcomer.  
  
All heads but one. Sela had a feeling she already knew who had just joined them.  
  
It was not a feeling she liked, nor was it particularly good.  
  
***  
  
Alarms sounded. The lights flickered. People yelled. His eyes still closed, Tom Paris knew they were going to crash. He wondered what had happened. He heard a nearby panel burst, and...  
  
Tom sat up with a muffled scream, tears in his eyes.  
  
For a moment he did not know where he was. The disorientation lastet for a few seconds, until he finally remembered. The mission. Being captured. The interrogation. Caldik Prime. The dream. His team-mates. The pain.   
  
He remembered being separated from his team. He vaguely remembered being interrogated. He remembered the pain.   
  
When he looked down on his body, he noticed he did no longer wear his uniform. Instead, he apparently wore some old, used civilian clothes.  
  
When his eyes adjusted to the darkness in the cell, he noticed he was alone. When he tried to stand, his legs could not bear him. He heavily stumbled back to the ground.  
  
Slowly, he crawled to a far corner of the room. He pulled his knees closer to his body and began to cry.  
  
After a few minutes, he finally drifted off into his sleep again.  
  
***  
  
  
  
'Ambassador. I'm glad you could come.'  
  
All the officers around the table rose to their feet when Ambassador Spock walked through the room.  
  
Only Sela stayed seated, watching the older Vulcan.  
  
Spock nodded at the StarFleet officers.  
  
'Admirals Haze, Paris. Captain Picard,'he said 'it is... acceptable to see you here again, under those circumstances.'  
  
Jean-Luc smiled. 'Ambassador.'  
  
Then Spock turned his head towards the Romulan Colonel, bowing his head.  
  
'Jolan True Colonel Sela.'  
  
'Spock.'she stated flatly, in a voice that indicated that she could barely live with the fact that the old Vulcan ambassador merely existed. 'May I ask what you are doing here ?'  
  
Sisko drew a sharp breath at this obvious lack of diplomacy.  
  
Admiral Haze answered her.   
  
'I asked Ambassador Spock to assist this meeting. He is something like our expert on Romulan affairs.'   
  
Sela grunted.   
  
'Expert.' she stated reproachfully.   
  
'I have spend more time on Romulus than any other member of the Federation. Since we last met, I have tried on multipel occasions to contact your governement. May I ask why no-one responded to my messages?'  
  
'We were very...busy.'  
  
'You undoubtedly were.'  
  
The glances Sela gave Spock could have melten through solid rock, but the Vulcan Ambassador stayed calm. Annoyed and disgusted, Sela turned away to Admiral Haze.  
  
'So?' she asked.  
  
'So what?' replied the Admiral, slightly confused.  
  
'Is the Federation prepared to forge an alliance with the Romulan Empire?'  
  
'You surely understand that I am not authorized to decide that on my own.'  
  
Sela grunted disgustedly. *Humans !* she thought.  
  
'I understand', she admitted 'With whom am I supposed to negotiate if I may ask?' Though, Sela thought she already knew the answer to that one. And she was proven right.   
  
Spock faced the Romulan and began to slowly walk around the table.  
  
'StarFleet Command has authorized me to listen to your proposal, and, depending on my judgement of the situation, to conclude temporary treaties.' He stressed the word 'temporary'.  
  
Sela's mood sank considerably. Negotiating with a Vulcan could be very tiring. Especially for Romulans. Especially if the Vulcan was called Spock. And the Romulan Sela.  
  
'You.'  
  
Spock nodded. 'Me.'  
  
'I should have known.' she said sadly.  
  
Spock only raised an eyebrow.  
  
***  
  
Tom Paris' sleep was violently interrupted by the sound of a door being slammed shut. Reluctantly he opened his eyes. When, after a few seconds, they adapted to the dim light, Tom saw the figure of another prisoner lying on the floor. It was a woman he noticed. Dark-haired, tall, clad in the same used old clothes he wore. The woman moaned slightly, but Tom was not willing to leave his corner to help the newcomer. The thought simply did not occur to him. Besides, he was too tired and too battered to be of any help, anyway.  
  
The figure suddenly rolled over, and Tom could see something sprinkling in the faint light. A piece of jewelry he thought.  
  
Finally, the tall, dark-haired woman abruptly sat up, eagerly rubbing the back of her head. She shot him a glance.  
  
'No, no, don't worry Tom. I'm fine. Don't bother to help me.' She remarked sarcastically.  
  
Tom was surprised, to say the least.   
  
'How do you know my name?'  
  
'I'm not in the mood for your weird sense of humour right now, you know' she flipped.  
  
*This voice. I know this voice. I know this woman.*  
  
'Who are you?' he asked tiredly.  
  
'Don't you know me anymore? Well, I should've known. It's been a long time since Caldik.'  
  
Suddenly, Tom's tiredness and his aches were forgotten.  
  
'Listen,' he said defensively 'I still don't know who you are, but how did you know about Cald-'  
  
He interrupted himself harshly when he noticed the woman's ridged nose. The glitter of light transformed into a piece of jewelry, then into something more concrete.  
  
An earring. A very familiar one.  
  
*Impossible.* he thought uncertainly *It can't be her. What would she...*  
  
'You? Shenja?' he asked incredously.  
  
***  
  
'This is outrageous!' Sela shouted. 'You can't expect us to let your men invade our ships!'  
  
'It's not an invasion Sela. They would only be observers.'  
  
Sela grunted.  
  
Ambassador Spock stood up from his chair and spoke to the table.  
  
'These negotiations seem to have arrived at a dead-end. It is late. I suggest we all leave now, and reconveine here tomorrow.'  
  
'You're absolutely right.' Sela said angrily.  
  
Slowly the StarFleet officers began to leave. Sela left the room hastily, but in the corridor she was stopped by a voice.  
  
'Colonel Sela' Picard said 'One minute please. I want to talk to you...privately.' he added, after mustering her 'assistant'.  
  
Letting out a sigh, Sela turned, slowly, to face Picard.  
  
***  
  
'You seem to know me after all.'  
  
'Shenja?' Tom repeated, still stunned. 'What are you doing here?'  
  
'Never underestimate my people. We have the tendency to turn up surprisingly in the weirdest places. Especially me.'  
  
Tom could not help it. The first genuine smile for days flashed to his face.   
  
'I never thought I'd see you again. I heard you joined the Maquis?'  
  
'Yes. I didn't have any other choice.'  
  
'And why are you here?'  
  
'What's that supposed to mean? Do you think I came here for holidays? I got captured, you twirp!' she shouted, her voice though, indicating some amusement.  
  
Tom started to laugh. He almost forgot all the pains and the memories and the interrogations and the dreams and the agony when he reached over to tightly hug the woman. He pressed his head against hers, a smile on his face, and let her cradle him softly.  
  
'Oh, I missed you too, Laren.'  
  
***  
  
Impatiently, Sela nodded to her assistant. The dark-haired woman looked at Picard coldly, then bowed her head slightly towards Sela, turned and left without a word. Sela looked at Picard, her arms folded in front of her chest.  
  
'What is it Picard?' There are more important matters that need my attention' she stated abruptly.   
  
'I...I wondered if you could do me a favor.'  
  
***  
  
« Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid  
  
Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire;  
  
Hands, that the rod of empire might have sway'd,  
  
Or wak'd to ecstasy the living lyre.  
  
The boast of heraldry, the pomp of pow'r  
  
And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave  
  
Awaits alike th'inevitable hour;  
  
The paths of glory lead but to the grave. »  
  
- Thomas Gray, Elegy 


	3. Chapter 3 - The Illusion of Truth

Chapter 3 – The Illusion of truth  
  
Holding the PADD in both of her hands, Colonel Sela leaned back against a chair, onboard Enterprise's Ten-Forward, reading, and from time to time nipping at the glass of blue Romulan Ale, standing on the low table in front of her. Opposing her, Picard sat, his look wandering, one time watching the stars, and sometimes resting on Sela.  
  
The female Romulan intrigued him, and, being Tasha Yar's daughter, this was understandable. Sela had the face, the hair of Tasha Yar, and her figure. Even if in the past they had been enemies – and so far, nothing told him that this situation had changed yet – and rightly so, he could not help but feel a certain liking for her. Because, in some way or other, he was apparently responsible for Tasha's death, he somehow felt Sela was his responsibility. Yet, he always felt a bit uneasy, whenever the Romulan was around, her resemblqnce to his former Security Chief being as it was.   
  
When Sela had finished reading, she dropped the PADD to the table and looked at him.   
  
After a brief pause, she said 'You are serious about this. I can tell by your eyes.'  
  
Jean-Luc remained silent.   
  
'I can't,' she said.  
  
'Why not?'  
  
'Why not? Because he was a traitor!'  
  
'Alidar Yarok was not a traitor. He-'  
  
'He stole one of our scout ships and fled into Federation Space where he rendered you classified information.'  
  
'Fake information. Your government tested his loyalty by giving him access to plans for an offensive against the Federation. He came aboard the Enterprise-D, and warned us about him. We penetrated the Neutral Zone, searching for a Romulan Outpost on Narendra III. The outpost, of course, didn't exist, and we were ambushed by two of your Warbirds. 2 days after, Admiral Yarok committed suicide. He left us this message, and asked us if we could send it to his daughter. At the time, of course, this was not possible. But since it now seems as though both of ours races would reconcile you should be able to contact his family. He sacrificed everything, to hinder your leaders in their effort in an alleged war, that would have in his opinion destroyed the Empire. He died for his home. And his last will was that his family would get this.' He gestured towards the PADD.  
  
'I am able to contact his family, yes.'  
  
'But you won't.'  
  
'No.'  
  
'Why?'  
  
Impatiently, Sela stood up, grabbed the PADD, and placed herself in front of one of the big windows, holding the PADD in front of her. She rested her chin on her let hand, and re-read the message, then lowered it, and looked out at the stars. She folded her arms in front of her and rested her chin on her left hand, nervously playing with her lips. When 2 minutes passed without her responding or even moving, Picard could no longer control himself. 'Sela?'  
  
As if awakened out of a dream, Sela flinched. She spun around like a madwoman, but managed somehow to control herself quickly. She took two quick steps towards him, dropped the PADD in his hands and gave him one, final, 'No'. Then she turned again, and moved towards the door as quickly as she could, nearly bumping into Commander Riker, who had just entered the room. Will turned and looked at her, but Sela appeared not to have even noticed him, and after the doors had closed behind her, Will let out a surprised sigh and walked over to Picard's table. He greeted his captain, then sat down on the other side.  
  
'What's gotten into her?'  
  
Silently, Picard handed the PADD to his 1st officer. Riker took and activated it, and after reading it, put it down on the table.   
  
'Oh' he said.  
  
'She refuses to transmit the message.'  
  
'What did you expect?'  
  
'I don't know.' Picard sighed heavily. 'I guess, I should have known. I don't understand that woman.'  
  
'I don't understand her mother.'  
  
Picard looked at him strangely, then a heavy silence set in.  
  
After a while, Riker had the moral courage to deliver what he knew.  
  
'Sir, I'm afraid I have other bad news.'  
  
Picard looked at him questioningly. 'What news?'  
  
'I have just received word from Admiral Haze. Our away team for   
  
Corvus II is missing.'  
  
Picard, now fully attent, looked up, concern showing in his eyes.  
  
'Missing? What do you mean 'missing'?'  
  
'Apparently,' Will said 'the team's shuttle was shot down before they could reach their target and exploded on impact. The Ketarra noticed the explosion, and the Dominion too can't have missed it.'  
  
'My god,' Picard breathed.  
  
  
  
'We do not know what has happened to the crew, but it is...highly probable that they are already dead.'  
  
  
  
***  
  
« Fear no more the heat o' the sun,  
  
Nor the furious winter's rages;  
  
Thou thy worldly task hast done,  
  
Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages;  
  
Golden boys and girls all must,  
  
As chimney-sweepers, come to dust.  
  
Fear no more the frown o' the great,  
  
Thou art past the tyrant's stroke:  
  
Care no more to clothe and eat;  
  
To thee the reed is as the oak:  
  
The sceptre, learning, physic, must  
  
All follow this, and come to dust. »  
  
-William Shakespeare, Cymbeline  
  
***   
  
-  
  
Ladies and Gentlemen, the Evening News are brought to you by the Federal News Agency.  
  
-  
  
Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to this evening's news broadcast. My name is Juliet Clark, and you are watching the Federal News Agency channel. Today, is a black day for the whole of out Armed Forces.  
  
A special detachment from Starfleet has, some days ago, conducted a daring raid, on one of the enemy's more vital planets. We have the tragic duty to inform you that the team has unfortunately been shot down, before it could reach its target.  
  
The chance that the crew-members are still alive is minimal.  
  
Even so, in the case any of the officers survived the crash, he would by now be at the mercy of a team of professional Cardassian torturers.  
  
[pause]  
  
To the families of those brave men and women, we can but express our most sincere sorrow and sympathy for their suffering.  
  
[pause]  
  
On the rest of the front line, equally disastrous encounters with Dominion forces have so far cost the lives of more than 120.000 StarFleet officers, and an, until now, unknown number off innocent by-standers and citizens.  
  
Today however, a spokesman of the StarFleet HighCommand staff in San Fransisco, Earth, has informed us that our troops have engaged a mighty enemy fleet, and have been relatively victorious.  
  
Details of the engagement have not bee released so far, but in one of our future broadcasts, we will undoubtedly have the opportunity...  
  
[fade out] 


	4. Chapter 4 - Rememberance

Chapter 4 - Rememberance  
  
'They can't be!'  
  
'I'm afraid they are.'  
  
Katherine Janeway tried to keep her voice calm, but she couldn't quite prevent her utter sadness from breaking through. And the fierce resistance of her officers didn't really make things any easier for her. Inside her mind, sadness and anger waged a war of their own. Sadness because of the loss of two of her crew-members, two very special crewmen. And anger because of the obstinate refusal to accept the fact that they were dead, shown by her staff, especially by Harry Kim. She knew, that he and Lieutenant Paris were close friends, and she very well understood his reaction. A part of her, too, resisted to believe that Tom and Tuvok were dead. But logic – she smiled sadly at that – told they were dead, or at the very least emprisoned and being tortured. Somehow, she wished they were dead, rather than at the mercy of the Cardassians.   
  
'They aren't dead. They still had time to save themselves with their parachutes!' the Ensign yelled. 'We can't just sit here! We have to-'  
  
'Do something?' Janeway asked, all of her frustration finally breaking through. 'Do what? Rush in at Corvus II with blazing phasers and take out an entire fleet by ourselves? Face it Harry, we can't do anything!'  
  
She breathed out harshly, and when the silence that had settled over the room was too much even for her to stand,she spoke again.  
  
'Listen, you are not the only one who lost a friend, Harry. We all did. I have known Tuvok for years, even before Voyager. It's not any easier for any of us than it is for you. But the fact remains that we can't do a thing!' She slammed her fist on the table, and everyone flinched.  
  
Not ready to let this discussion frustrate her even more, she turned her back to her officers and looked out of the window.  
  
'There will be a small ceremony in the mess-hall, Saturday at 19:00 hours. Dismissed.'  
  
After a while she heard the door close behind the last of her senior officers and sat in her chair. She leaned back and turned her gaze back to the stars, unshed tears glistening in her eyes, and silently mourned for lost friends.  
  
***  
  
« Alexander died, Alexander was buried,  
  
Alexander returneth into dust, the dust is earth,  
  
Of earth we make loam ; and why of that loam,  
  
Whereto he was converted, might they not stop  
  
A beer-barrel ?  
  
Imperious Caesar, dead and turn'd to clay  
  
Might stop a hole, to keep the wind away :  
  
O, that that earth which kept the world in awe  
  
Should patch a wall to expel the winter's flaw. »  
  
-William Shakespeare, Hamlet  
  
***  
  
B'Elanna Torres headed directly for the turbolift. She moved into the tube, turned, and was just about to tell the computer her destination, when she heard Harry Kim's voice through the corridor.  
  
'Computer, hold.'  
  
Seconds later, Harry too stepped into the turbolift. 'Deck 12,' he said. As soon as the doors closed on them, Harry turned to B'Elanna.  
  
'What's the matter with you? You haven't said a single word during that entire briefing!'  
  
'I don't really want to talk about it Harry...'  
  
  
  
'What? Why not?'   
  
'I...I...please, Harry, just leave me alone for a moment, allright?!'  
  
It was not really a question.  
  
'I thought you were his friend,' Kim stated accusingly.  
  
B'Elanna spun around. She said nothing, but apparently, Harry got the message. The rest of the turbolift ride passed in utter silence.   
  
When he stepped out, Harry began to turn one last time, but then he just shook his head, and stormed away.   
  
When the doors closed, B'Elanna formed a fist and hit the walls of the turbolift as hard as she could, leaving no trace, but hurting her hand.   
  
Tears assembled in her eyes, but in a desperate effort to show herself that it didn't matter, to ultimately betray herself, she fought them back  
  
***  
  
« My lonely anguish melts no heart but mine;  
  
And in my breast the imperfect joys expire.  
  
Yet Morning smiles the busy race to cheer,  
  
And new-born pleasure brings to happier men;  
  
The fields to all their wonted tribute bear;  
  
To warm their little loves the birds complain;  
  
I fruitless mourn to him that cannot hear,  
  
And weep the more because I weep in vain. »  
  
-Thomas Gray, On the death of Richard West  
  
***  
  
He's gone.  
  
The thought hadn't let go of her, ever since she had learned the terrible news, and even now it refused to let her alone.   
  
B'Elanna steadied herself against the console she had just been working on, and closed her eyes briefly. An image came to her mind almost instantly. The night few minutes they had spent together when she had been released from SickBay, after they had returned to the Alpha-Quadrant were her last, enjoyable memory of Tom and her being together, and in the last days, they came to her mind and to her dreams, a bit too often to be anything but disturbing. They reminded her of what had happened, and that was, right now, the last thing she needed. In the middle of the night, when she awoke from those dreams, she would sometimes turn, half-expecting him standing there, looking at her. Of course, he wasn't. And what was worst was that each time, for just the fraction of a second, she did not know why not. And then it hit her again, with a vengeance, and she hated it each time. She...  
  
...was interrupted in her reverie. By Ensign Vorik, who obviously wanted to hand her a PADD of some sort. She, rather unkindly, snatched it out of the hands of the young Vulcan officers.   
  
'What is it?' she snarled. The venom in her voice could have killed an adult Klingon.  
  
The Vulcan looked at her in what was probably the expression nearest to surprise you could get from a Vulcan.   
  
'It is the report on the dilithium crystal you asked twenty minutes ago, sir,' he answered.  
  
At that time, Harry Kim entered the room, and stopped dead in his tracks when he saw what was going on four metres in front of him.  
  
B'Elanna was apparently arguing with Vorik, and she was getting pretty annoyed; he could tell by the decibel level her voice had reached now. He quickly weighed his alternatives out against each other, and then prompted for the Frontal Assault variant.   
  
With his best pokerface on, he moved towards the arguing couple, and positioned himself on both of their sides.  
  
'Is there a problem?' he asked innocently.  
  
'Yes,' Vorik stated.  
  
'No,' B'Elanna barked simultaneously.  
  
'I see,' Kim remarked.  
  
  
  
Looking once again at Chief Torres, Vorik started explaining the situation.  
  
'Lieutenant Torres asked for a report on the dilithium crystals   
  
twenty-five minutes ago.'  
  
'I don't remember doing that!'  
  
'Then perhaps you should consider a visit to sickbay,' Vorik told her.  
  
B'Elanna's eyes turned into fluid lava, and Harry considered the time right for a tactical withdrawal. He grabbed B'Elanna lightly by her shoulder, and pushed her out of engineering, excusing himself to Ensign Vorik.  
  
Half dragging B'Elanna, half being dragged, Harry eventually made it to her quarters.   
  
'What's the matter with you?' he asked, as soon as they entered her cabin.  
  
'Nothing!' she snarled back, jerking around violently.   
  
'In that case, it's a pretty big nothing.'  
  
Enraged, angry, frustrated, B'Elanna threw herself at her couch.  
  
She hugged her knees and looked up angrily at her friend.   
  
'It's because of Tom, isn't it?' he asked.  
  
No response.  
  
'Isn't it?' he repeated.  
  
'I don't know!' she snarled back, her voice trembling.  
  
Harry sat down beside her and forced her to look at him. At first she refused to turn around, and she shook off his arm, but when she swung her right fist around to sent him to the floor, Harry luckily stopped it in middle-air, before it could hit his face. He gripped both her wrists tightly and leaned over to hug her.   
  
She resisted, and struggled for a while, but finally she ended up, gripping her friend tightly and sobbing heavily against his shoulder.   
  
All the while speaking soothingly to her, and holding her, Harry could not help but wonder why suddenly this outbreak of emotions had come over her. A crying B'Elanna Torres was not exactly what he was used to. Of course, he too grieved over the death of perhaps his best friend, but three days after he had heard the news, his initial...outrage and refusal to believe had abatted considerably.  
  
Somehow he had managed to accept the fact that Thomas Eugene Paris was dead, and somehow he felt guilty for doing so.  
  
He supposed that his enthusiasm to help B'Elanna, who obviously seemed be more upset than him, was founded on that fact.   
  
B'Elanna started crying. 'He's gone.'  
  
'Shhh. I know,' he said, running his hand up and down her spine in what he hoped was a comforting way.  
  
Helping other people always distracts from the problems you have.  
  
*** 


	5. Chapter 5 - It's nothing personal, it's ...

Chapter 5 – "It's nothing personal, it's just the times."  
  
Alex Renton swallowed hard, and tried to talk, but his mouth was dry and felt sore, from the day-long water deprivation. What had the Cardassian said? 6 days without water...Alex wondered how much longer he would survive without anything to drink. The words uttered from his throat were hardly understandable, even to Alex himself. He suspected that his capturers had pumped him up with drugs, to loosen his tongue.  
  
'Mr. Renton, the sooner we get this done, the sooner you will get something to drink. And...the sooner you will see your friends again,' Deka said.   
  
'They're alive?' Alex questioned.  
  
'Possibly. You see, some were not cooperating, if you understand.'  
  
Alex could virtually feel the cruel smirk the Cardassian officer gave him.  
  
Slowly circling around him, like a hunter playing with his prey, Deka questioned him further.  
  
'Who are you?' he inquired.  
  
'Renton Alexander, Lieutenant.'  
  
In the meantime, enough saliva had assembled in Alex's mouth and throat to allow him to speak normally.  
  
'Who are you?' the Cardassian repeated, this time louder.  
  
'Renton Alexander, Lieutenant,' Renton said confusedly.  
  
  
  
The Cardassian slapped his face, hard.   
  
'Who are you?' he yelled. 'No, wait. I will tell you. You are my prisoner, N° 5472.'  
  
The Cardassian walked over to behind his desk.  
  
'Where are you, N°5472?'  
  
'This must be Corvus II...I-'  
  
'I'm afraid this isn't Corvus, .'  
  
'It has to be! My team was on a mission here!' Instantly he kicked himself mentally, for giving away that piece of information, but he didn't even think before giving it. Apparently the drugs already began working.  
  
'Ah, there it is. Yes, your team was on a mission, but not here. This, my friend, is Siona Prime, a small planet near the Cardassian border. A harmless world, without any military installations apart from this.' Deka gestured to the room they were in. 'A prison camp for POWs. I believe that's the term your government uses?'  
  
'A prisoners of war camp? But we were told..'  
  
'About a storage facility? We know that, N°5472, your green-blooded friend with the pointed ears already told me that.'  
  
'Tuvok? Is he-'  
  
'Alive? Oh yes, he lives...barely.' Deka merely whispered the last words, but it made his captive shudder.  
  
'So, N°5472, you were told to destroy a storage facility. But, instead, you awaken and you find yourself a prisoner of war, accused of terrorism. Your team has destroyed civilian buildings. What does that make you feel?'  
  
Alex grunted. 'Do you expect an answer to that one.'  
  
Deka grinned.  
  
'My dear N°5472, you are a very stoic specimen. But your willpower is wasted here. The drugs I injected you will tell us everything we want. I would have preferred more Cardassian ways, but our allies, the Dominion, do not like what they call "atrocities".'  
  
'What do your allies expect then?'  
  
'A quick victory?' Deka suggested.  
  
Alex snorted. 'Great! A sadistic megalomaniac with a sense of humor.'  
  
For a moment, everything was silent.  
  
He didn't even see what hit his head, before he fainted away.  
  
***  
  
When B'Elanna Torres entered the mess-hall, her first reaction was to be surprised. The entire command staff as well as a good part of the crew had assembled, all wearing Gala-Uniforms. The tables had been re-arranged, so that all crew-members had a clear view on the Command staff table.  
  
B'Elanna walked over to where Janeway and Chakotay stood. Both of them greeted her with a sympathetic nod.  
  
Soon, Neelix called everyone to their seats. Slowly, the little conversation that there was ceased, as everyone waited for what was coming next.  
  
And just as slowly, and in what people might call a dignified pace, Janeway walked up to her seat and placed herself behind it. She coughed slightly, and when she was sure of having everyone's attention she began to speak.  
  
'Ladies and Gentlemen, we have assembled here, in honour of two of our crew-members; Lieutenant Thomas Paris, and Lieutenant Commander Tuvok. What can I say about those two? Tuvok once said that he had "learned to tolerate Tom Paris", and so did I. Over the years, I have grown accustomated to him and his behaviour. But more than anything else, Tom Paris had earned my trust, and my respect; and I hope that others here also have learned to respect him. When I appointed him Lieutenant and pilot of this ship, some of you have protestes that a man of Tom's past should be given such a responsibility. But in those four years we were lost, Tom had worked hard, and had changed. Perhaps he looked at the Delta-Quadrant as a unique opportunity to make up for his past mistakes, to begin something new. He had succeeded in doing so; I can hardly count the times he saved this ship and its crew, or the numerous occasions he proved great courage and loyality. Many among you called him a friend, myself included. But he was more, he was a member of a family, this family. And as such a member, we mourn for him.'  
  
***  
  
'When is the last time you ate something? No, wait, I will tell you. You did never eat at all, did you? You must be very hungry.'  
  
'As a matter of fact, I'm not. The necessity to consume food is not unknown to me. Neither do I feel the lack of nutriments in a form of what you would call hunger.'  
  
'You mean, you never eat at all? You don't consume anything?' Deka said indifferently.   
  
'From time to time, I inject a special mixture which ensures perfect working order.'  
  
'I'm afraid, all I can offer you is a glass of water.' Deka nodded into the direction of a glass, standing on a shelf, on the wall to Data's left. 'All you have to do is to walk over and get it. But, I have to say, that will be dificult, with you cuffed to that chair. But, from what you said, I doubt you would even try.'  
  
The android remained silent.  
  
'Lieutenant Commander Data, you are in posession of certain informations we need, and we intent to get it. You can either cooperate or we will have to remove that information from your head...quite literally.'  
  
***  
  
Looked at from outside, the new Starship Enterprise was considered beautiful by many. Her design was based on precise calculations of Warp-speed velocities, but nevertheless, her constructors had managed to give the giant ship an elegant form. Elegantly, Enterprise floated through space, keeping near to Starbase89. Slowly it completed its circle around the Starbase, showing itself from all perspectives. On the foremost point of StarFleet's flagship, seven feet high windows gave a splendid view of the void outside. The window places of the ship's re-creational facilities, Ten Forward, were famous aboard the ship itself. When one approached far enough, the attentive visitor could look through those windows, and see figures moving. On this particular day, the visitor would see seven crew-members, holding instruments in their hand; a Dixieland orchestra. Other things that the visitor would see, were balloons and paper streamers, hanging from the roof of Ten-Forward. And more people, some of them busy eating pieces of a cake, standing on a large table in the middle of the room, would sometimes look at the windows and admire their view. And he would see a dark-skinned woman, wearing a slightly excessive hat, talking to a bald man, in his middle-fifties. He would see a dark-skinned man, wearing a VISOR, talking to an attractive woman, with long, black hair. And he would see the picture of a man, whose yellow, cat-like eyes, pale skin and rigid hair-do made him look a bit naïve, and even more clown-like.  
  
And when the visitor would cross the barrier of those windows, he would notice the odd music. And he would hear some conversation.  
  
*  
  
'Geordi, I like your party,' Riker said to the dark-skinned man. 'It's something else than all those other memorial service.'  
  
Geordi smiled. 'It's about the same Data arranged for me, when I was dead,' he said. 'It's only fair that I return the favor.'  
  
'I'm sure,' the woman beside him said with a sad smile. 'I'm sure Beverly would have liked this too.'  
  
*  
  
And the conversation would have continued, and after a time, the visitor would continue to wander across the room, and perhaps listen to another talk.  
  
*   
  
'It's time,' the dark-skinned woman, wearing the extravagant hat said. She looked at the man in front of her.  
  
'I know,' Picard replied. 'Guinan, I know you don't like it, but would you...'  
  
'Yes,' Guinan interrupted him. 'I'll do it. Now go,' she added when she saw his surprised look.   
  
Picard smiled. 'I knew you would,' he said, then walked away, and positioned himself in the center of the room. When he was sure everyone could hear him, Picard coughed slightly, then raised his voice.   
  
'Ladies and Gentlemen,' he said, 'we have assembled...no, that's not good. Ladies and Gentlemen, Commander LaForge has arranged this...ceremony, to honor two of our crew-members, and two of our friends. Doctor Beverly Crusher and Commander Data have been on the Enterprise since the very first mission on Farpoint Station. For eight years, we could rely on their professional skills, and on their support for those they called friends. Of all present, I think I have known Beverly longest. I was very well acquainted to her husband, Jack, who was with me on the Stargazer, and I was what you could call a 'friend of the family', whatever that means.' Picard paused for a moment. 'The day I delivered Beverly the message that her husband had died – under my command – it was probably one of the worst day in both of our lives. Informing the next of kin about the decease of a loved-one, is never a happy duty, and yet it looks as though I have to do it again. Wesley Crusher is the only remaining member of our Doctor's family, and as her commanding officer it is my duty to inform him personally.' Picard closed and opened his eyes, and scanned the room for reactions. When it remained silent, he waved to Guinan, telling her to take his place. The woman walked slowly across the room, and stood beside Picard, who retired slowly in return.  
  
Guinan studied the faces of the crew, then managed a brave smile and began to speak.  
  
'My people,' she said, 'is known as a race of listeners. We listen to other people, we listen to ourselves, and we listen to nothing. I have known Data long, five years at least, and I have listened to him. He was a machine, yes, but he was my friend. I am not able to hold a long speech on his qualities, and I don't want to. Everyone who knew him, knows that he was loyal and benign. No, the most notable feature on Data was his search for humanity. It seems strange, a nearly perfect machine, wanting to become human, with all the flaws and imperfections it brings with it. But on his quest for humanity, Data looked only for the good things about humans. Humans, build communities. That is their strength. They build communities, and invite other races to join. The crew of the Enterprise accepted Data as a part of that community. Data wanted to acquire only the positive aspects of humanity, but realized that part of being human is being angry, enraged or sad. Though, in his naïveté, he still looked primarily for the good aspects, mercy, joy, love, and over time he managed to become more and more human. He was a good friend,' she closed, and because it seemed appropriate, she added 'Thank you' and walked away.   
  
*   
  
After the ceremony, the visitor perhaps would feel like exploring Enterprise further. Perhaps, he would follow the dark-skinned man with the VISOR, who was now in one of the ship's corridors, heading for the cabin of a lost friend. When he came to the door, his hand automatically reached out to activate the doorbell, before he remembered why he had come and why no-one would open to the doorbell chiming. Instead he tapped in his personal code, and entered the room. He looked across it, and when he didn't see what he was looking for, he walked into the neighboring room, where a bed and some bookshelves decorated the room.   
  
'Spot? Where are you, you little devil?' Geordi said, getting on his knees and looking underneath the bed. Without warning, a furry flash sprang at him, and scratched him with its claws. Geordi flinched and banged his head hard against the bed. In an instant Spot was out of the room, and running through the corridors. Still lying halfway underneath the bed, Geordi smiled, and touched his scratched cheek.  
  
'God, I hate that cat.'  
  
***  
  
'What we want, Vulcan, is your cooperation. Now, I know your race is very stubborn, but do you see this device here?'  
  
Gul Deka held out his left hand, and Tuvok recognized the little device – it seemed to be a remote control of some kind – he had seen before.  
  
He nodded.  
  
'Good,' Deka said, obviously satisfied with himself, 'because this is one of my personal favorites. This device you see, will help us...communicate.' Slowly, he put the remote control on the desk behind him. 'It can create pain. Extreme pain, in every part of your body; where I like.'  
  
'As you so correctly remarked, I am Vulcan. Vulcans are able to handle their emotions...and pain,' Tuvok said, in that calm and logical voice of his.  
  
'My dear N°5535, it is my belief that there is a limit to everything.'  
  
Deka reached out and took the remote control. 'Let's start with something easy.' He pushed the controls.  
  
***  
  
'Commander Tuvok,' Janeway said, 'was like a mentor to me. I learned much from him. His character, his typically vulcan attitude to everything, and his quiet always have had a soothing effect on me. I have known him for 8 years now, and I have grown to look at him as one of my closest and best friends. Before Voyager, he was a Federation spy on Chakotay's Maquis ship. And even though Commander Chakotay, with reason, felt as though he had been betrayed, it is my conviction that both of them respect each other, and perhaps even would have been friends one day, if not...' Janeway stopped, and gulped heavily. 'I will miss him,' she concluded. 'I will miss both of them.'  
  
Janeway raised her glass, and held it high in the air.  
  
'Gentlemen, a toast, on our two friends.'  
  
Silently, the crew imitated her gesture, and Janeway sat down again.  
  
B'Elanna excused herself, pretending that she still had work to do and stormed out of the mess-hall, earning puzzled looks from her friends. Truth is, she ran away to hide, ran to her quarters, sealed the door, and finally collapsed, her back against the closed door. She hugged her legs, pressed her knees to her body and stared into nothingness.  
  
After sitting motionless for several minutes, she slowly stood up and walked over to the couch.   
  
B'Elanna buried her head in her favourite pillow and began to think.  
  
Before Tom had left for his mission, they had had a terrible row. The things he had said to her, about her relationship with her father, had hurt her, and made her furious.  
  
But when she had heard the message that Tom was Missing In Action, probably dead, she had felt as though someone had grabbed her heart and torn it apart inside her body.  
  
She had buried herself in her work, afterwards, but she knew she wouldn't be able to keep that behaviour up forever. And Harry...Harry was one of Tom's closest friends, and he still refused to believe him dead, four days after Janeway had informed them of the fate of their crewmates. She hadn't spoken with him for two days, not since their talk. She wasn't quite sure what feelings she harboured for Tom Paris, and even she had been surprised about the measure of her chagrin. But Harry had proven a true friend.  
  
Was she in love with Tom Paris? She did not know. People say you only know what you will miss, until it or he is gone. She missed Tom, that she knew. But she didn't know wether she missed him because she had grown accustomed to him, or because she cared enough about him to do so. Since the first time they met, when Tom joined Chakotay's Maquis cell, she had despised him. All the people she cared about had warned her about the crack-pilot and womanizer.   
  
He's not trustworthy, Chakotay had said. He likes playing the lone wolf, and this attitude, mixed with him overestimating his skills, is dangerous. Stay away from him, or he will be your peril.   
  
B'Elanna supposed Chakotay had held this speech to everyone he knew, but for some reason, they had impressed her. Sometimes, she mused, I look at Chakotay like a eight-year old girl to her eighteen-year old big brother. He may mean well, but Chakotay still can err.   
  
And concerning Tom Paris, he could have been wrong. Right enough, the first months on Voyager weren't easy, dealing with him. But she was prepared to admit that he had changed.   
  
And that during the last few weeks or months, Tom had grown to become one of her closest friends. Perhaps even more. True, he had a knack of enraging her, but by far most of the time, she simply enjoyed being with him. And now he was gone.   
  
And she missed him. Terribly. And that made her wonder.  
  
Had she fallen in love with him?  
  
And if yes? How could that have happened? She had more or less avoided a long-term relationship for quite a while. Of course, there had been occasion when she had met men, but she had not been seriously interested in any of her, and probably that was why she had dated them, in the first line. She liked her independence.  
  
Once in her life, she had been dependent. She had trusted Marc, depended on him, like all eight-year-old girls depend on their father. But he had left them, and hurt her. Since then, she had been very careful about whom she would trust.   
  
She had been independent, because that was a safe way of not getting disappointed.  
  
And then Tom Paris came, and now she was wondering if she loved the slightly arrogant, but somehow sweet, young man.  
  
And so she sat there, hugging her pillow, thinking.  
  
After a time, she eventually fell asleep.  
  
***  
  
'Mr. Paris,' a voice said, sounding strangely satisfied and, even worse, friendly. 'How do you feel?'  
  
'As though a great many heavy objects had fallen on me.'  
  
'And indeed they have.' When no response came, the voice commanded 'Open your eyes, Mr. Paris.'  
  
Slowly, Tom opened his eyes, at first he was blinded by at least 5 spotlights, shining down directly at him. Then, his pupils narrowed, as his eyes slowly adjusted to the bright illumination. After not long, he was able to recognize a human-shaped figure, standing under the spotlights, and slightly to the left of a big, oval table. With a slow pace, the figure approached him, and Tom recognized the man as a Cardassian. Apparently noticing Tom's struggle with the light, the man reached out and pushed a button, on some hidden console embedded in the desk. The spotlights dimmed, and now, finally, Tom could make out some details. The man was standing in front of his desk, his arms now crossed behind his back. When he turned and began to walk, Tom could see a small device in the man's left hand. Obviously the man was member of Cardassia's military. He was tall, approximately 2 metres, and had an old, pale face. He cercled around the chair on which Tom sat a few times, staring at him. Tom opened his mouth to speak, but he found he couldn't.   
  
'Mr. Paris, I am afraid you look devastated.'  
  
Tom looked down himself, and saw that he was clad in what remained of a prisoner's uniform. The left sleeve was missing, and on the rest of the clothings, he saw gaping holes revealing his flesh, dirty and on some places injured.  
  
'What happened?' he questioned.  
  
'You don't remember?' the Cardassian asked in all innocence, 'You seriously don't remember? But, Mr. Paris, surely you must know where you are! Where are you Mr. Paris? Or, even easier, who am I?'  
  
'You're Cardassian-'  
  
'Very good! At last you seem to be regaining your wits, Mr.Paris. I am indeed Cardassian. My name is Gul Deka. I am in command of this...outpost. Your name is Thomas Eugene Paris, Lieutenant, anf you seem to be my prisoner.  
  
***  
  
Admiral Owen Paris sat in his quarters aboard StarBase89, looking out at the stars, and thinking. Katherine Janeway had asked him to take part in the memorial service onboard Voyager, but he had declined the offer. He felt that he couldn't participate in such an event, when he was not even certain about his own emotions.  
  
It was not as though he didn't love his son. Every parent, every father does, is bound to do.   
  
And contrary to what Tom had once said, his head was not "too damn deep buried in your ass" to admit his errors. When he had heard about Tom's disappearance onboard Voyager, he had started thinking. He had come so far as too deeply regret what he had done to his son, years ago. Sometimes, the waves of emotions were too much for him to bear, and, now as well, he turned the little orange pill, that would end all his heard-aches, in his hands, musing wether he should or shouldn't make use of it. No, he decided, there still was hope. So he put the pill back into it's secret pocket, in his right sleeve, turned back, and buried himself again in his work.   
  
***  
  
« Torturers are professionals, they know exactly what they do. They count on long-term effects, and that is why their deeds are never aimed at hurting their victims for a relatively short while. Their goal is much more likely to be to inflict mental wounds on their victims who are likely never to heal completely. They want to humiliate and degrade their victim, to break him permanently, as a person. The purpose of torture is seldom to get informations. There would be other, more efficient, quicker and less painful methods to achieve that goal. No, the purpose of torture is to create  
  
a physical and psychical wreck, which will later serve as a living warning for the comrades of the victim. »  
  
- P.M.  
  
*** 


	6. Chapter 6 - POW

Chapter 6 - POW  
  
In the dark room, where his and his associate's silhouette were outlined against a six feet-high window, the only source of light, Gul Deka watched his deputy bring in Prisoner N°5472.  
  
That prisoner had been the last one of the Federation spy-team he had captured some weeks ago who had resisted to answer questions other than the so-called "big four"; name, rank, origin, birthdate.  
  
Thanks to the Dominion's drugs, however, N°5472 too had been broken, and had rendered all information he possessed to the Dominion. Deka had learned that he and N°5486 were members of a Federation Special Unit. But since he had only been briefed on a need-to-know basis, he hadn't given away anything new. Nor had the others.   
  
Special Troops were too high a risk to keep in captivity.  
  
A sudden 'blam' came from the interrogation room. He turned to look, and saw his deputy quit the room, leaving a blood-stained body behind.  
  
N°5486 had died two days ago.  
  
And now the blood-soiled body of N°5472 waited for two Jem H'Adar to carry him away, to be shown to the other prisoners.  
  
For this very purpose, Deka's deputy had used not a phaser, but an ancient projectile weapon to kill 5472.  
  
In Deka's experience, the effect of a bullet wound in a skull had a far more demoralizing effect than a mere phaser burn. He was used to the sound of the weapon, but he had seen the Vorta start earlier, when 5472's life had been extinguished.  
  
Like many Cardassians, Deka disgusted the Vortas. They were creepy, and not trustworthy, and despite the fact that they waged a war in the Alpha-Quadrant, they hadn't the guts to witness an execution. And they kept referring to that ridiculous human term. Atrocity.  
  
Deka snorted.  
  
The Vorta turned to look at him.  
  
'Was this,' he gestured towards Lieutenant Renton's body, 'really necessary?'  
  
'Yes. They would have made trouble.'  
  
The Vorta sighed.  
  
'In the end, I suppose, we have what we wanted,' he said.  
  
'How can you say that?' Deka asked. 'They have given us no complete plans or data. Not even that machine.'  
  
'The Android resisted your...violent efforts to extract data from his processor.' Vorta shrugged. 'He will do well in the mines. Has the prisoners' memory been erased?'  
  
'Yes, but we don't know for sure if it worked completely. They might have flashbacks, or dreams.  
  
'Then the Founder's goal has been achieved,' the Vorta said. His voice was marked with awe, when he came across the word "Founder".  
  
'And what is that goal? All we got were imprecise sketches of the defense of T...'  
  
The Vorta jerked his head violently to the left, and glared at Deka furiously.  
  
The Cardassian's eyes widened. 'You can't seriously plan to attack that planet?'  
  
'Why not? If it falls, the Federation will fall.'  
  
'Why are you so sure about that?'  
  
The Vorta smiled.  
  
'Can the dragon exist without its head?'  
  
'The Federation hardly is a dragon.'  
  
The Vorta eyed Deka subspiciously.  
  
'More like a lizard.'  
  
***  
  
When Tom Paris and Ro Laren stepped out of the barracks, Tom almost suffocated from the shock the extremely dry and hot air caused.  
  
Corvus II was devilish, a desert world through and through. The ground inside the prison camp was rough and strewn with boulders and little sharp stones that sometimes even cut through the soles of his shoes.  
  
What little water that had been placed on this planet by nature had been intoxicated by the Cardassians. Their heavy industries had mined the ores of the planet for years, ruthless, with no concern for the consequences on the environment. The poisonous smog their installations had released, had poisoned the worlds eco-system. Rain was extremely rare, and when it fell, it was nothing more than fluid toxic waste, a smelly acid.  
  
There were only two replicators for the whole prison camp, producing nothing but compressed food, pressed into small cubicles or tubes, just enough to keep a few thousand prisoners alive.   
  
Tom found out that Ro had already spent about six months in this hell, and she "had seen the sky " fourteen times.   
  
The prisoners in the ore mines worked in cycles, six hours working, six hours rest, day after day. After each cycle of about 12 days of continuous work, the prisoners were allowed a whole day of "seeing the sky".     
  
Tom was astonished to learn that the Cardassians would let the prisoners out of the force-field perimetre of the camp. But Ro Laren had explained it to him.  
  
'I think it belongs to the mentality of this place,' she had said. 'If nothing but death would await us, after a while, people would just lay down and die.  
  
So, we have alternatives. If we do not behave and do whatever they want, there are the tripods. Tripods are those small cages, standing on three legs. You have to kneel in them on a sharp edge, your arms cuffed behind you at about head-height. They won't give you anything to eat or drink, just put the tripod in the plain sun and leave you, for every other prisoner to see.  
  
They are used to execute people as well. I once saw a prisoner die in one of those things. For five days they left him in there. Then he was dead. They forced everyone to take a good look at his corpse. Oh Tom, it was terrible. Those bloody rats had already started eating him, and he was nothing more then skin and bones. It was disgusting!' At that time, several tears had run down her face, and Tom had hugged her fiercely, to comfort her, and himself.  
  
'But there is still hope,' she had said later. Every two weeks they let us go up that mountain there – she had pointed to Mount Szabo – and that helps. You won't believe it until you did it yourself, but it helps!   
  
And we know we always have the choice. Either we can come back from the mountain, or...or we go for the walk.'  
  
Paris had frowned. 'You mean, leave the camp site?'  
  
'They won't hinder you. Nobody knows exactly what happens after you go, since nobody ever came back, but it has to be better and mercifuller that the tripods. At least there'll be animals or cliffs to make you a quick end.'  
  
'And you call that hope?'  
  
'When you've been here for a while, you'll understand. You can't live here, if you don't know that you have at least a choice, that there is more.'  
  
With a loud noise, the guards had announced the end of the rest-time. The two had been led away to work.  
  
In the time that Tom had been here, after they had stopped to interrogate him, Ro had practically adopted him, showed him everything there was to see, explained him what he needed to know.  
  
When they weren't working, they were sleeping, eating, or sitting on the floor of their barracks, and talked.  
  
He didn't remember what had happened after he had been captured, only that he had been asked questions. Every night, he had the same dream though, a small blue and green marble rolling across the floor, and a huge Cardassian stepping on it, breaking it.  
  
One day, when he returned from his working shift to the barracks, Tom had caught a glimpse of red hair. He had peered over the open place and discovered a tall woman, the red, long hair dirty, the face full of bruises, being led away by two guards, in the Gul's office's direction.  
  
'Doctor Crusher,' he shouted, but the woman hadn't turned around to look at him. The guards did though. They gave him the worst beating of his live, kicking him with their heavy boots, kicking his head and his genitals. He could feel some of his teeth explode in his mouth, under the pressure of a heavy wooden baton.  
  
He never dared shout at someone again, and he never saw one of his team-mates again.  
  
Slowly and painfully, Tom Paris learned what is was to be a slave.   
  
Three days later  
  
Federation News Agency Broadcast  
  
Decembre 24th, 2364  
  
-  
  
Ladies and Gentlemen, we interrupt our current program for a Special News Broadcast.  
  
-  
  
Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, I am Juliet Clark, and you are watching a Special News Broadcast, brought to you by the Federated News Agency.  
  
Our sources in StarFleet HighCommand have informed us, half an hour ago, that the latest encounter between our and Dominion forces have resulted in an outstanding success for the Federation.  
  
As you will know, this agency has reported about a battle, a week ago, when no details of the engagement were known.  
  
A fleet of six hundred ships, supported by a Klingon force, had set out from StarBase89. Its mission was the re-conquest of Deep Space Nine, because of its vital tactical position near the Prophet's Wormhole.   
  
On the way to their destination, they were engaged by a Dominion fleet. The following battle resulted in a victory for our side, and the enemy fleet retreated back to their previous position. Unexpected support came from a fleet of Romulan Warbirds, that helped our side defeat the Cardassian-Jem H'Adar alliance. Currently, peace negotiations between the Federation and the Romulan Empire are being held.  
  
The initial attack on the occupied Deep Space Nine space station though, had to be called off, due to a serious engineering malfunction on a great part of the fleet.   
  
Yet, it is said that, if the war continues to go as well, he will be over by the end of this very year.   
  
Thanks to the selfless, personal sacrifices of many of our officers, the Federation could now be well on the winning side of is this war.  
  
Our deepest sympathy to the families of our dead, or of those under the mercy of the Dominion's ruthless torturers.  
  
*** 


	7. Chapter 7 - Congress of Treachery

« Politics is supposed to be the second  
  
oldest profession. I have come to realize  
  
that it bears a very close semblance to  
  
the oldest. »  
  
-Attributed to Alexandr Kerensky  
  
***  
  
Chapter 7 – Congress of treachery  
  
Sandhurst, British Isles  
  
European Continent  
  
Earth  
  
When the door opened, the light shining from corridor invaded the room, plunging the still-sleeping figure lying in its bed in white light. The male human who had been sleeping in it until then turned around sleepily, and slowly opened his eyes. He winced when the light assaulted his eyes, and he had to blink several times, before his pupils had narrowed enough to admit – up to a certain point – a clear view of his quarters.   
  
'What the the hell?' he moaned. 'This better be good, because if not, I'll damn well ki...Ian? That you?'  
  
The shadow standing in the doorframe nodded. 'Yessir. Sorry to wake you Chris, but your "presence is needed in CnC, ASAP", quotation end.'  
  
Captain Christopher Ryan let himself fall back onto the bed noisily.  
  
'Why can't I be needed at a civilized time? Just once?' he asked.  
  
'Beats me. But I suggest you get up, get dressed, and get ready, now.'  
  
Sitting on the edge of his bed, Chris looked at his friend tiredly.  
  
'Yes, sir' he said, with a mock salute.  
  
'I'll be waiting outside,' Ian Malenkov said.  
  
'Yes, yes ; it's a long time since I learned to dress myself. I'm sure I'll be all right,' Chris said, waving his friend out of the room tiredly.   
  
When the door had closed behind him again, Chris stood up and went over to his bathroom. He was a tall, perhaps skinny man, with sand-blonde hair, that fell over his dark brown eyes. When he looked in his mirror, he saw that he truly looked like somebody who had been woken out of a pleasant dream, in the middle of the night. He looked at the chronometre over the mirror.  
  
0421.  
  
Letting out a grunt, he then proceeded to wash and shave himself, and went over to his dresser.   
  
Five minutes later, he stepped out of his quarters, clad in the best thing he could find in the hurry: black, leather combat boots, black trousers and shirt. He hadn't found the time to search for his belt, so he wore his shirt loosely over the trousers.  
  
On the left shoulder of the shirt, his unit's crest showed itself, the image of a black fox' head, dripping with foamed saliva, against a blood-red background.   
  
On the right shoulder, another crest was visibly attached. The insignia of A Squadron, a golden, winged dagger, a paper scroll in front of it, with his unit's motto inscribed, Who Dares Wins, the whole of it in front of a black background, as dark as the rest of his unifrom. Apart from the insignias, and the equally black beret he wore, nothing showed his rank or identity.  
  
His choice of clothes was confirmed when he noticed that Ian, his deputy, was dressed roughly the same as he was, except that the winged dagger was replaced by a black heart on a white background, and a white hour-glass, in the center of the heart.  
  
Leftenant Ian Malenkov was a relatively tall, handsome young man of twenty-four years. His hair was cut short, and dark. His green slit-eyes flickerd attentively across the space in front of him, absorbing every detail of the path they walked, as they walked. His eyes indicated Asian origin, but as he knew, only his grand-mother's side of the family was Asian. His perhaps lanky, but muscular body was a result of his unit's training.   
  
Together they made their way to the next turbolift, which transported them to the building's basement. As soon as they stepped outside the front door, Chris could feel the cold wind, that was so typical for this part of Earth, tugging at his shirt.  
  
Walking with a quick pace, they made their way over the narrow path across the garden complex surrounding the unit's so-called barracks, in fact a luxurious building complex which harboured the active personal of his team.   
  
Through the not-so-dense forest on his right, Chris could see the sun, glowing orangely, slowly rising. Knowing the danger of walking in the dark, eyes focused on something else than the path, he shook off a sudden feeling of melancholy and continued his walk.  
  
They were walking across the soft, grassy hills of an age-old town, the place where he had been born, Sandhurst, on a relatively small island near the main European Continent, a beautiful island, called England. For centuries, Sandhurst had been the location of a military college. On the founding of the Federation, the place had been shut down, the official reason being that there would be no more need for such an institution, in the bright future of mankind, that lay ahead of them.  
  
But when the Federation had made contact with a new enemy, more lethal than any it had previously encountered, the Borg, a special program had been called to life.   
  
A young, ambitious officer had been given the task of preparing the Federation for the war that now seemed inevitably.  
  
Among other things, Commander Ariana Shelby – Captain Shelby now, Chris reminded himself - had re-instated the old Sandhurst college, as training and command facility for a new section of StarFleet she intended to create.  
  
Hand-picked among the most promising members of the Federation's armed might, and equiped with the most sophisticated technology, that unit's speciality would be infiltration and commando missions behind enemy lines. Its recruits had to endure an ardous training programm, being pushed to their limits and beyond, to assess whether they were made of the 'right stuff' for the unit. One could not apply directly for the unit, so all members allready had experience in StarFleet.  
  
Christopher Ryan had always been more of a loner than anything else. On Starships, he could never feel quite at ease, and apparently he had been Shelby's first choice – God knew why – as commander.  
  
The official unit name, by whom the few high-ranking Admirals and the President knew it, was 14 Intelligence Company, or 14 Int, a reference to a unit of similar name who had existed, almost four centuries ago.   
  
As commander of this new unit, the only authority Christopher Ryan had to report to was Shelby, still the overall commander of the whole program. He had met Ian Malenkov quite early in his life, when he still was a kid, and somehow they had become friends. Some of Ian's joviality and outgoing character had 'infected' Chris, but he still preferred to keep his thoughts and emotions for himself.  
  
After about ten minutes of walking in the early morning, the two men reached CnC, the Command and Control centre of the unit.  
  
Two heavily armed Guards stood at each side of the front entrance. When they saw the unit crest on Ryan's left shoulder, they snapped to attention simultaneously.  
  
Chris nodded in their direction. One of the guards stepped aside and revealed a hip-high, narrow console. Ryan stepped closer, and tapped his personal code into the numeric pad on top of it. A small diode on the console changed from red to green, and a small cover slit aside, revealing a small slot. Ryan pulled out a rectangular white card, equal in size to the slot, and let it slide in.   
  
The door opened.  
  
Ryan pocketed the card again, and entered the building, followed by Ian. At the end of the corridor they stepped into a turbolift. The doors closed behind them, and Ryan said, 'Level four, CnC'.  
  
Apart from the low hum of the lift, nothing indicated that the small cabin hat set itself in motion. After only some brief seconds, Ken   
  
turned to his friend.  
  
'So, what do you think they want from us?' he asked.  
  
'I have no idea, Ian,' Ryan muttered.  
  
Ian knew his commander and friend. Trying to start a conversation when he was in this state was futile and would lead to nothing.   
  
The rest of the trip was silent.  
  
The computer voice announced 'Level Four - CnC', and the doors slid open. They revealed a large antechamber, a big, rectangular table standing in its center. The table was made of wood, a rare sight in the 24th century. Monitors, consoles and touch-sensitive displays were integrated in the old, oak table. Two of the walls were fitted with man-high MultiFunction Displays, the other wall was made of glass, and offered a splendid view of the surrounding lush vegetation and the sky. The remaining, far, side of the room barred every technology, except for a large, duranium-built, door.  
  
Not even nodding to the few people allready present, Chris strode across the room.  
  
The doors barely had time to open in front of the impatient commander, and in the very motion of entering Shelby's office, Ryan held up his right hand and said, 'Ian, you'll wait here' and disappeared behind the four inch-thick doors.  
  
Standing before the now-closed door, Ian Malenkov started uttering a 'Typical, absolutely typical', but stopped himself.  
  
No, he thought. Critisizing a superior officer in front of others wouldn't do any good.  
  
Instead, he walked over to a young Lieutenant, who bent over a monitor embedded in the oak table, and stood beside her. He put his right hand over the young woman's shoulder and looked at the monitor she was studying.  
  
'So, how's it going?' he said.  
  
***  
  
The room he entered was dark. The only light came from another man-high monitor, on the opposite end of the room.  
  
Ryan stopped dead, and saluted.  
  
'Captain Ryan reporting for duty, sir,' he snapped.  
  
'At ease, Christopher,' a female voice answered.   
  
In a moment, the monitor was switched off, and the lights on. The room was plunged in a soft, yellow light. Behind a large, old-fashioned, wooden desk, a woman in her late twenties, with blonde hair and clad in the newly issued StarFleet uniform, looked up at him. The rank pips indicated a Captain, but Chris didn't need to look at them. He knew Captain Shelby when he saw her.   
  
Ariana Shelby motioned to a comfortable-looking leather chair, in front of her desk.  
  
Ryan sat.  
  
Selby folded her hands in front of her.  
  
'First,' she said, 'I'm sorry to wake you at this time of night, but the matter for which I need you is important.'  
  
'Always on duty Captain,' he replied. 'Isn't that your motto?'  
  
Shelby smiled.   
  
'Please, why so formal? When we're alone, call me Ria, like all my friends.'  
  
'What makes you think I'm your friend?' Ryan teased.  
  
A smile appeared on Shelby's face.  
  
'We may have grown up together Chris,' she warned, smirking. 'but don't push it.'  
  
'Yes sir!'  
  
'Now, more serious buiseness awaits us.'  
  
She tapped a hidden button on the underside of her desk, and the display on the wall was reactivated. It showed the face of a young woman, a Romulan, the typical short hair and hair-do, but, unusually green eyes.  
  
'Do you know this woman?' Shelby asked.  
  
Ryan smiled grimly.   
  
'Of course. Colonel Janika, the leader of DEST.'  
  
DEST was the Federation callsign for Draconis Elite Strike Team. The name Draconis was derived from the unit's insignia, a black stylized Dragon, against a red background. The Federation had learned about the DEST teams, when an Human ensign, who had deserted to the Romulans years before, had once again changed sides and surrendered himself and a fairly big amount of data on the Romulan Empire to the Federation. The data he carried was detailed and of vital importance, and when StarFleet Security had learned about DEST, the Federation Council had concluded that an own Commando unit was indispensable, which was fortunate, because Commander Shelby had already set up such a unit, though that fact was known only to the fewest of people. And so, 14 Int was re-created, of which Ryan and Malenkov were members.  
  
'Exactly. Now; I know Rabid Fox is often forgotten when it comes to the latest news,' she said, referring to his unit's unofficial name. 'And I apologize. Fact is, Romulus and the Federation are currently engaged in negotiations concerning an alliance. You do not look very surprised, do you?'   
  
'I allready knew about it.'  
  
Shelby wasn't surprised. After all this man had been trained to know everything,   
  
'How ?' she asked.  
  
'One of my men is stationed on StarBase 89. The Warbirds were not easily to be overseen. The rest...' he shrugged. 'A lucky guess.'  
  
'I see,' she said flatly, her eyes narrowing to small slots. 'Anyway, the leader of the Romulan delegation, Colonel Sela, has brought Janika with her.'  
  
Ryan nodded, but remained silent.   
  
Apparently a bit unnerved, Shelby stood up and walked over to the monitor, until she was barely inches away from the Romulan face.   
  
'The A and D squadron are in orbit around Earth. Chinook and ChickenHawk – two Defiants – are ready and waiting. This time you'll be travelling on the ChickenHawk – the Chinook had been re-assigned to a front-line fleet. Your mission is, for the moment, to observe the Romulan delegation, in particular Colonel Janika. Take D Squadron with you. Combat gears are already waiting for you in the Defiant's cargo bays.'  
  
Ryan nodded, again.   
  
'Understood,' he said. 'When are we going?'  
  
'As soon as possible. If you're allright with it, this morning.'  
  
Ryan stood up.  
  
'Allright,' he said.  
  
Shelby seemed to be thinking something over, so Ryan waited patiently for her to speak.  
  
'Wait. The Romulans might still try something. Perhaps you should take the Watch with you.'  
  
The Watch, or Blackhearts, as they were called because of their recognition sign, consisted of, in total, five men, and was a special sub-division of 14 Int, specialised in Anti-Terror tactics and so-called Black operations, or BlackOps. They did get their nick-name Blackhearts, because they traditionally left a card with an imprinted black heart on the cold bodies of their victims. The cynical motto of the unit was In hoc signo vinces – Beneath this sign you shall win.  
  
According to an age -old legend, the Emperor of the East-Roman Empire, Constantin, was given this message by the Lord in a vision, before going into a – victorious – battle.  
  
'Do you really think that's necessary?' Ryan asked.  
  
Shelby nodded.  
  
'Right. If you think.'  
  
'Dismissed.'  
  
Ryan stood up and headed towards the door.  
  
  
  
'Christopher.'  
  
Shelby's voice made him stop, before he could reach it.  
  
'Take care.'  
  
With a last nod, and a 'see you', Ryan was gone.  
  
***  
  
When the door opened with the typical hiss, Ian Malenkov turned. His CO, Christopher Ryan, quickly walked out of the room he had been in for the past 15 minutes.   
  
'C'mon, Ian. We gotta get going. For a change you and your blokes are with the rest of A Squad,' he said, as he walked past.  
  
Grabbing his beret from the big table, Ian had to run to keep up with his friend.  
  
'Wohwoh, hang on a second. What did the Iron Lady want?' he asked. And after a moment's hesitation, he added, 'And where exactly are we going?'  
  
'To war?'  
  
Ryan's answer made Ian stop dead in his tracks.  
  
'Oh, how pathetic...'   
  
***  
  
'This is absolutely ridiculous!' Benjamin Sisko exclaimed. 'There is a war going on out there, and we sit here arguing about observers and politics!'  
  
Colonel Sela remained calm. 'Did not on of your own philosophers say that military actions are the ultimate extension of politics? So, how can we divorce them? We-'  
  
Unusual for a Vulcan, Spock interrupted her.   
  
'Von Clausewitz made that observation about Napoleonic politics and warfare, but his book was published at a time when both, he and the phenomenom he commented upon had vanished. If you look at the history of warfare fought while his doctrine held sway, you'd see that the empirical data fails to prove his conclusion. War is far too complex a phenomenom to fit into so simple a paradigm, especially when the forces unleashed in it are capable of sterilizing whole planets.'  
  
Sela glared at him, but remained silent.  
  
For a while.  
  
'What exactly are we arguing about?'  
  
'Observers,' Sisko commented bitterly.  
  
His face even, Spock turned to the captain. 'Captain Sisko, may I remind you that you are only here because Admiral Haze,' he pointed towards Haze and Paris, sitting next to him, 'insisted on it. Captain Picard, a complete diplomat, has been dismissed to his duties, and if you don't wont the same happen to you, I would suggest you would reduce your talking to constructive comments, and equally reduce your...cowboy diplomacy.'  
  
Taken aback, Sisko could do nothing but sit and send a glare atthe old Vulcan ambassador.   
  
Everybody in the room watched Sela, when the tall woman who had been with Sela all the time, bent over, and talked to her. No one could understand her, as she spoke Romulan, but apparently Sela agreed.   
  
When the woman had seated herself again properly, the Colonel folded her hands on the desk, in front of her.   
  
'Gentlemen, the decision stands: no permanent observers on our ships. However, we are prepared to agree to an exchange program; one, only one of your men will come aboard my flag ship, and one of mine aboard Enterprise, your flagship.  
  
Face it, both our people need this alliance. So, there should be no arguing about observers and such-like.'  
  
'I would have to agree with the Colonel,' a new voice said.  
  
As everybody turned to look at the newcomer, Captain Christopher Ryan entered the room. He still wore the same clothes he had put on that night, when Captain Shelby had called him to his office. He had only put on a shirt without the unit's insignias, and had issued his men to do the same. And as a "sign of good faith", he had decided against arming himself.  
  
Making his way to where Admiral Haze was seated, Ryan took an old-fashioned paper enveloppe out of a side-pocket in his trousers. The reason for using paper for Regimental affairs concerning Rabid Fox was obvious: easy to destroy, without chance of recovery. He handed Admiral Haze the blank enveloppe, who unfolded and read it. He, in turn, handed it to Admiral Paris, who equally read it, then turned it back to Ryan.  
  
The Romulan woman beside Sela had locked her eyes on Ryan since he had entered the room through a rear door. She bent over again to Sela and whispered something in her ear. The blonde Colonel nodded in agreement.   
  
Haze turned to the delegations.   
  
'Ladies and gentlemen,' he said, 'this is Captain Christopher Ryan, of the...StarFleet Security branch,' he added after a short hesitation.   
  
Ryan gave everyone the friendliest nod he could possibly afford.  
  
'Captain Ryan,' Sela said. 'I have heard about you.'  
  
'I believe you have, sir. And you, Colonel Janika.'  
  
'Touché,' Sela said, after a moment's silence. There was no humour in her smile. 'I should have seen it coming, Captain. Gentlemen,' she said, turning to the StarFleet side of the table, 'may I introduce: Colonel Janika, head of the nekekami. And now we will get on with things, or we won't, either way, I said all I intend to, about the Colonel,' she added darkly.   
  
  
  
Nekekami, Ryan mused. Spirit Cat. Interesting choice of name.  
  
As part of his training, all 14 Int members had to be able to speak, and think, in Romulan, Klingon and Cardassian, the natives languages of the places where they were most likely to be deployed. This education was vital, because the few seconds one normally needs to mentally translate from one language to another, could not be afforded on covert operations, where one was forced to behave casually and normally. In addition, when the mission required it, each member could visit a special course, to learn another alien language in the shortest time possible. Thus Ryan had learned to speak and think Bajoran once – although by now his skills at that language had diminished somewhat – when he was once sent on a covert mission on Bajor.  
  
Smiling slightly, Sela turned to look at Ryan, who had by now seated himself beside Spock.   
  
'And what, Captain Ryan, is your mission here?' she asked sweetly.  
  
'Observing.'  
  
***  
  
A bar is the best place to forget.  
  
In StarBase 89's bar, B'Elanna Torres, Neelix, Harry Kim, Julian Bashir and Deanna Troi were sitting at a table. Empty glasses, previously filled with synthehol, RakhT'Haginos, hot chocolate or in Julian's case, a bottle of Saurian Brandy, were standing in front of them.   
  
Their ships, after countless battles and skirmishes had been docked, to repair damages, and their crews had been granted shore-leave.  
  
Harry and Neelix had decided that B'Elanna needed a bit of distraction, and had half-dragged her to the bar. Deanna Troi had met Julian Bashir on Defiant, and the doctor had invited her to a drink. The five of them, had ended up sharing a common table.   
  
'To our comrades in arms,' Julian shouted, earning some strange looks from the other guests.  
  
'You're drunk Julian,' Troi commented.  
  
'I'm not. Well...maybe I am. But just a little,' he stuttered.  
  
'Good thinking that man,' Neelix commented enthusiastically, himself already a bit...jolly. 'Being drunk is a very good idea...I think...What exactly is in that...Saurian Brandy of yours, anyway?'  
  
'You don't want to know,' the doctor said, 'You really don't want to know...'  
  
B'Elanna and Harry shook their heads simultaneously, a small smile crossing their faces, nevertheless.  
  
Troi stood up. 'I think,' she said, 'I will now endeavour in the quest for a cup of mousse chocolat.'  
  
And she left, heading to the bar. When she crossed the room, she saw a man entering it, clad entirely in black. He arrived at the bar first, and she could hear him ordering mousse chocolat. When she reached the bar, the waiter was still waiting for her.  
  
'I'll have the same, please,' she said.  
  
The man looked at her.   
  
'You like chocolate?' he asked innocently.  
  
Troi smiled. 'I wouldn't want to live without it,' she admitted.  
  
'Me too,' the man said, now smiling at her. 'But most people think you're out of your mind when you order chocolates...as an adult, I mean.'  
  
Troi giggled happily. 'Oh, I know exactly what you mean.'   
  
Probably they would have talked like this for a while, but the waiter interrupted her, giving her her mousse. When she turned, Ian already had disappeared.  
  
She sighed.  
  
Men, go figure!  
  
***  
  
Out of the corner of his eye, Ian had seen another woman enter the room.  
  
If he had believed in the 'love at first sight' phenomenom, which he didn't, that would have been the proverbial it.  
  
The young woman that had entered the bar was tall and slender. Dense, black hair reached to her lower neck, but he could see the pointed ears beneath her silky sheening hair. The ears were only slightly pointed, noticably less than those of a full-blooded Vulcan.  
  
Ian had fairly good eyes, and so he could actually see those of the newcomer. They were, for a Vulcan, very...unusual. Vulcans normally had dark eyes. Due to the extreme climatic conditions on Vulcan, the inhabitants had developped a darker iris than Humans. It was a protection from hazardous emissions from the sun, like their second eyelid.   
  
But this Vulcan, had...other eyes. Bright and green, with a touch of steel-grey.  
  
She was dressed in a black cat-suit with high collar, and in what reminded Ian of a combat vest, dark green. But the clothes hardly mattered to him.  
  
The eyes, the dark hair, the ears, the aristocratic snub-nose and the fine, elegant mouth; everyting added to her elvish appearance.  
  
She was the most beautiful thing, ever to be aboard this StarBase.  
  
Or, so Ian thought.   
  
The woman walked over to the bar, stood next to him, nodded friendly, in his direction, and ordered a Romulan Ale.  
  
She turned to Ian, eyed him.  
  
'You are staring at me,' she remarked.  
  
Ian blushed slightly, a thing he hadn't done since his old schooldays.  
  
'I'm sorry,' he apologized, and was totally perplexed, when she actually smiled at him.   
  
'I could not help but noticing you,' he added after a while.  
  
Silence.  
  
The Vulcan continued to look at him.  
  
Ian held out his hand. 'Ian Malenkov,' he declared.  
  
The woman studied his face for a second, then his hand.  
  
'Talina, pleasure to meet you, Mister Malenkov,' she said, taking his hand.  
  
Ian took it, then bent over, and kissed her knuckles.   
  
'The pleasure is all mine.'   
  
And for a while, they indulged in friendly small-talk, until...until Ian came to speak on Vulcan.  
  
'I have been to your homeworld once. I kinda liked it,' he said.  
  
'I seriously doubt that.'  
  
'No really, Vulcan is not that bad a place...just a bit hot, and...'  
  
Seeing her sly grin, Ian stopped. And then the sheds fell from his eyes, and he recognized his mistake.  
  
'You're Romulan,' he stated.  
  
'True.'  
  
For a while there was silence.   
  
'I know,' the Romulan said then, 'that we are probably not allowed to talk to each other, so if you have to go now, I'd understand it.'  
  
Much to his surprise, she sounded almost...sad.  
  
'You sound almost...sad,' he said. It really was all he could manage at that time.   
  
'I almost am,' she remarked slyly. 'You're good company.'  
  
Ian was surprised. Genuinely surprised.   
  
'You know, I have never met a friendly and amiable Romulan...until today.'  
  
She bowed her head in gratitude, but her voice was serious again when she spoke.   
  
'Contrary to what your propaganda says, Romulans aren't cold-blooded, blood-thristy, emotional copies of Vulcans. And contrary to what our propaganda says, not all of us hate Humans.  
  
'It is true, we are a...passionate people, but passion can be something very positive.'  
  
'So it would seem.'  
  
'Romulans too have feelings.'  
  
'I never doubted that.'  
  
Talina smiled. Ian found he increasingly liked her smile. And her.  
  
She raised her glass, and held it in front of both their faces.  
  
'To the Romulans,' she toasted.   
  
Their glasses met in the air with a slight tinkle.  
  
'To the Romulans,' he repeated. 'Sastarovje.'  
  
***  
  
'Ambassador Spock, what are you saying?' Sela's voice began to show symptoms of the hour-long debate in which she was involved.   
  
'I was sent here, by the Federation High Council, to assess the possibility of an alliance with the Romuan Star Empire. This I have done. It seems to me, that we have enough in common – including an enemy – to be of mutual help in this war.'  
  
'So, your superiors have come to a decision have they?'  
  
Spock nodded his agreement.  
  
'And what decision would that be?'  
  
Spock reached for a PADD, and handed it to Sela.  
  
'This,' he said, 'is a copy of the treaty my government proposes. It includes all the compromises and agreements we have reached here, such as the transport of StarFleet personal on Romulan ships and vice versa, the mutual defense clause, the possibility of exchanging technology, and the annulation of the Treaty of Algeron.'  
  
Sela took the PADD, handed it to Janika and nodded.  
  
'You understand of course,' she said, addressing all officers in general, 'that we will have to go through the document for ourselves.'  
  
'Of course.'  
  
'But, I think that there will be no more problems. So I suppose we can...call it a deal?'  
  
'Done and done,' Ryan said.   
  
***  
  
As they walked through Enterprise's corridors, earning curious, incredulous and amused looks and smiles from what crew they encountered, Talina and Ian Malenkov discussed the evening they had just spent together. When the StarBase's bar had become too crowded, they had changed locations and continued their talk in Ten Forward, where nearly no one had been, apart from Guinan and two, three other crewmen.   
  
Somehow, the innocent small-talk they had held at the beginning, had changed into what certain people would maybe call a date. Or maybe not.   
  
Most of the time however, they had just been talking, each one telling "his" story, or little anecdotes. Really, they had simply enjoyed each other.  
  
But before long, the evening was over, and now they were standing in front of Talina's Quarters, facing each other, holding hands.   
  
Ian had been surprised to say the least learn that her quarters were onboard Enterprise, but she had explained it to him.  
  
Exchange officer. In that case, probably Tal Shiar.   
  
Ian was merely a few centimeters taller than her, but Talina still had arched her head back slightly, to look in his eyes.  
  
'So,' she said. 'Will I ever see you again?' And, after a brief pause, she added, 'God, that sounded like one of your cheap holo-novels.'  
  
Ian giggled happily.   
  
'Yes it did. But I happen to like cheap, sappy holo-novels,' he said in a low voice. 'I still have two weeks worth of shore leave left. I think I'll have them now.'  
  
'I hope that has something to do with me,' she whispered.  
  
'Perhaps.'  
  
Talina slapped his chest playfully.  
  
And just at that moment, two more crewmen walked past, eyeing the Romulan/Human couple strangely.  
  
Ian watched their backs, until they disappeared behind a corner, then he snorted slightly.  
  
'They will be wondering what such a beautiful Romulan wmoan in combat dress is doing here, with somebody like me, whom they have never seen before, and worst of all, holding hands. It will be all over the ship by tomorrow afternoon. Probably before.'   
  
'Humans,' Talina snorted, amused. Slightly amused. 'A Romulan Crew wouldn't care about such a thing. They wouldn't stand around outside their quarters for anyone to see either, if it comes to that. But you humans, you have to talk about everything.'   
  
'Let them talk.'  
  
Ian looked into her eyes, but before long his sense of duty won over his private desires. After all, he thought. She still is Romulan. And Secret Service.  
  
'I have to go,' he said hurriedly. 'I have some early briefings to attend to tomorrow.'  
  
Already turning to leave, he was stopped by her hand grabbing his shoulder. As he looked at her questioningly, she stood on the tip of her toes and kissed him lightly on the lips.  
  
'Thank you,' she whispered in his ear. 'For new insights in the Human race. And for this special evening.'  
  
She smiled.   
  
'Bye,' Ian said, squeezing her hand a last time, before she disppeared in her quarters.   
  
Ian Malenkov grinned. For the rest of his journey back to his quarters on-board Chickenhawk, he could not help it but whistle a jolly tune, that had suddenly come into his mind.  
  
Shelby'd go spare, was the thought that kept him amused until he collapsed in his bed, to sleep. Finally sleep.  
  
***  
  
Three days later  
  
News Broadcast  
  
FNA Transmission  
  
-  
  
Ladies and Gentlemen, the Evening News are brought to you by the Federal News Agency.  
  
-  
  
Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to this evening's news broadcast. My name is Juliet Clark, and you are watching the Federal News Agency channel. We have the pleasure of informing you that today, StarFleet HighCommand has announced a new alliance, between our people, and the Romulan Star Empire. The Non-Aggression and Mutual Defense treaty was signed yesterday evening, on StarBase89. Now, with this new powerful ally, the Dominion will soon stop posing a serious threat to our loyal citizens.  
  
Some of you might wonder what had happened to our other ally, the Klingon Empire. A spokesman of StarFleet announced yesterday that the Klingon High Chancellor Gowron has decided to retire from the active conflict, but he has yet to specify the reasons for this act.  
  
-  
  
Ladies and Gentlemen, that was today's Evening News.  
  
And now, stay tuned for another episode of our Brasilian soap-opera "Olé"!  
  
*** 


	8. Chapter 8 - Making History

« One cannot make an omelett without  
  
breaking an egg. But it is amazing  
  
how many eggs you can break without  
  
getting a decent omelett. »  
  
***  
  
Chapter 8 – Making History  
  
When Captain Christopher Ryan entered the briefing room of ChickenHawk, the sixteen men of Squadron D stood to attention.  
  
The big room was only dimly lit, only a bright spotlight shone on the speaker's desk.  
  
As 14 Int's flagship, ChickenHawk was totally different in design than any other Defiants outside the Regiment.   
  
The Regiment in itself was parted in four Squadron of thirty men each, and each Squadron had its own Defiant-class Spaceship. In addition there was the Chickenhawk. Usually, D Squadron's ship was the Chinook, but that special ship had been assigned to combat duty in the fleet.  
  
ChickenHawk was an old name, and there was a story about its origins:  
  
In an early Earth war in the 20th century, two soldiers were discussing wether or not they should just quit the army while the war was still raging. One of them said that would probably make them chickens. But the other replied that in the middle of the combat, when he flew his assaults in his helicopter, he'd feel brave, almost comfortable. "Like a hawk maybe." But then, in the pauses between combat, he'd quit at the slightest excuse. "So," he asked. "what am I? A chicken or a hawk?"  
  
"You're a chickenhawk," the other replied.  
  
All five ships were modified Defiants. Since only a crew of thirty men and women needed to be harboured, much of the original crew quarters had been spared. In response, the actual cabins were bigger and more comfortable than standard Defiant issue.   
  
The ChickenHawk had like all Squadron ships, a special briefing room on Deck One. Thirty-six chairs were in it, in three rows of twelve chairs each. As commander of the overall 14 Intelligence, Ryan was not assigned to any Squadron, but could join each of them if his mission required it.  
  
Ian Malenkov sat in the first row, on the outer left of it, directly vis-à-vis to the speaker's desk, where Ryan stood. Behind the young Captain, a large monitor had been installed, and showed now a solar system diagramm.  
  
When everybody was seated again, Ryan began to explain in detail to his men what they were up to.  
  
'Allright people, everybody listen up. Admiral Haze has requested our assisstance on a joint Romulan/Federation mission and the Iron Lady has given it to him.  
  
What you are about to hear is classified, and since there still is the threat of Changlings inside StarFleet, any of you giving information to anyone outside this room will be court-martialed for High-Treason.'  
  
He pressed a control on his desk, and on the monitor behind him, the view zoomed in and showed one of the planets in detail. A small text appeared to the planet's right.  
  
'This is Corvus II, main Ketracel White storage facility in the Alpha-Quadrant, and that's our target.  
  
As some of you may know, we already did send out a team to Corvus, to destroy it. Alex and John, from B Squadron went with it, but their shuttle was shot down, and they were either killed or captured, or both.  
  
We're not going to make the same mistake again,' Ryan concluded, pointing at the far end of the room.  
  
A tall Romulan male stood there, and at Ryan's nod began walking up to the desk, and took Ryan's place.  
  
'My name,' he said. 'is Major Jera. I am in command of what you call DEST.'  
  
There were surprised gasps among the soldiers. Their sworn enemy, the Romulan commando. Under normal circumstances, Jera would have, from the time of his anouncement, had approximatively 4 seconds to live, until a throwing knife or a shuriken would have struck his forehead or throat. But circumstances were hardly normal today, and so he lived.   
  
'For this mission,' Ryan said, stepping beside Jera, 'the Major will give us a lift. The ChickenHawk with two Warbirds as escort will transport us and a DEST Squadron to our first mutual mission. Major Jera here, will give you the details...'  
  
  
  
***  
  
After the mission briefing, Ian strolled through the narrow corridors of StarBase89. So they were going to war.  
  
Again.  
  
A special mission deep inside enemy territory.  
  
Buisiness as usual.  
  
A commando mission to rescue the commandos. Interesting. No, wait, Ryan said it wasn't for the away-team, but for the storage depot. If anyone of them is still alive, good, if not...Enough! I should concentrate on getting me out of there alive. And at least, - he smiled – this time I'll have a good reason. Apart from wanting to live. And...  
  
Suddenly, Ian stopped dead.   
  
...where the hell am I?  
  
***  
  
Clad in a long black robe decorated with fine golden sewings, Talina knelt on one end of a mat, in one of Enterprise's Holodecks.  
  
A dark-green ribbon, a sakhram, ran across her forehead, keeping her hair away from her eyes, and ended in a knot, on the back of her head.  
  
She had received it, as all absolvents of the Sakahra Academy do, where the future nekekami agents were trained. The training was hard and dangerous. Few finished it, and in Talina's year, there had been six fatal casualties. Of her class of seventeen, those six had died and nine more had failed. Only two had made it into DEST.   
  
The ribbons were almost holy among the survivors, and there had been stories about near-fatal wounds healing because they were bandaged with a sakhram.  
  
Detailed, age-old decorations, made of gold- and green textile, were carefully stitched into the fine silky fabric of her robe. They showed an impressive dragon, his face on the front side of the robe, and its wings stretched out, reaching as far as the sides of her ribcage. The dragon was green, outlined with golden, and it sent a fierce stare at anyone who dared look at it. On the Dragon's shoulder sat an elegant bird-of-prey, Hawk-like in appearance, but not from Earth, but from Romulus.  
  
On the far side of the robe, an ugly beast held itself in a servile position, though looking as if ready to fight the mightier dragon, snarling at it.   
  
The beautiful decoration symbolized a fighting scene, and the robe had been especially manufactured for Talina and two other members of her team, when they had returned from a particularly dangerous mission against a Klingon outpost.   
  
Thrust through the broad, blood-red satch circling her slim waist, was a ketado, a deadly, curved, fifty-five centimetre-long, flat blade with razor-sharp edges and a flat point. The traditional weapon of a shinjai, a master in the ancient shinurota discipline, a martial art from the earliest days of Romulus. Only very few, 'modern' Romulans still were trained in that particular fighting skill.   
  
All DEST agents were masters in this art, and some of them routinely took their ketado with them into battle. Talina's had belonged to her family for over twelve generations now.  
  
Talina's shoulders and chest rose and fell slowly, then she was off. Rising in one smooth motion, she freed the sword from its scabbard. The flashing steel blade swept out and around to the right, exploding a red, helium-filled balloon hovering at head height. Talina continued the spin and let the slightly curved blade drop half a meter. She let the blade rip a jagged gash into another balloon's surface. Talina continued her spin, the sound of the balloon bursting almost unnoticed next to the pounding of her heart. Another step forward and she slashed straight down with an overhand blow that shattered a small wooden block, a holo-character had lofted through the air towards her.   
  
Half the wooden block skittered across the floor and bumped up against Captain Picard's right foot. He looked down at it, noticing how cleanly the ketado had sheared through the solid pine cube.   
  
'Impressive. Very impressive.'   
  
For a moment, Talina's concentration was gone, and she missed the last target, a holo-created dummy, man-high.  
  
Furious with herself, Talina sank to her knees, allowing her momentum to slide her forward, and rehomed the ketado, without looking or giving the task much thought.  
  
Then the sharp sound of a pair of hands clapping reached her ears.  
  
Talina thought at first that Picard offered the applause in cruel mockery, but it did not fade away quickly, the way such a false accolade usually did. The clapping remained strong and steady.  
  
Talina rose to her feet, and saw the bald Captain for the first time. He was dressed rather strangely she though. A white costume, a helmet with a black visor, and a long, thin blade tucked under his arm.  
  
The Captain continued his applause and even let a hint of a smile cross his face.  
  
Talina bowed.  
  
'Arigato, Tai-i Picard-sama. But I wish you had been spared this exhibition.'  
  
Talina thanked Picard slowly, and with respect, but Picard just waved a hand.  
  
'Until I entered and disturbed your concentration, you were doing excellent.'  
  
'Yes, but I hardly showed respect to shinurota or my master with my display.'  
  
'Your last cut at the dummy missed, but that is not why I was applauding. There, at the end of the exercise, despite your distraction and humiliation, you resheathed your sword without hesitation, without thought. You showed a presence of mind few, even amongst our both races, ever attain.'  
  
Talina let his mind replay what she had done. She hadn't thought, she had just acted. She had rehomed the blade because it was the right and appropriate action. The idea of cursing or throwing down the sword in frustration had not occurred to her.  
  
'There are times, Major Talina, where knowing how to return weapon to its scabbard is more important than knowing how to cut with it.'  
  
Picards's subtlety was not wasted on Talina's mind.  
  
'Hai. Thank you Captain, I would like to think that the road I travel is the one through which wisdom can be attained.'  
  
Picard smiled.  
  
Curiously, Talina pointed to the weapon in Picard's hand.  
  
'What blade is that? I have never seen anything like it before.'  
  
Picard raised and looked at it.  
  
'It is what we call a foil. It is not a sword, like yours. With your...'  
  
'Ketado,' Talina helped.  
  
'...ketado, you emphasize on using the blade's edge. With a foil, you emphasize the point and the lunge.'  
  
'I understand.' She eyed the foil curiously. 'May I?'  
  
Picard handed her his foil, and Talina in return unsheathed her ketaido again, and pointed the handle at Picard.  
  
He took it, carefully.  
  
Talina examind the foil closely, and bent the blade several times.  
  
'Sumimasen, Captain, but your blade seems to be defective.'  
  
She bent it again, in front of his eyes, to prove her point.  
  
Jean-Luc chuckled.   
  
'No, Major, that is quite allright. It is intended to be flexible. Otherwise, people could get hurt while using it.'  
  
'Yes, but, that is the purpose of a blade, is it not?'  
  
For a few seconds, Picard eyed her strangely. Then comprehension kicked in.  
  
'You mean you actually use this sword as a weapon?'   
  
'What else should we do with it?' Talina asked, non-plussed.  
  
'Well, it seems...like an anachronism. In the age of energy-beam weaponns I mean. We use foils like that one for sports. For entertainement.'  
  
Before Talina could respond to this, another ear had already caught the last statement.  
  
'A typical human waste of material and opportunities,' a new voice said.  
  
Immediately, Talina executed a formal bow, then deepend it and held it an instant longer than she had for Picard.   
  
'Kowayana, Chu-sa Sela.'  
  
Sela nodded in her direction, then walked over to Picard and took the ketado out of his hand.  
  
'This blade is old, Captain Picard, perhaps older than your family. It takes month to produce a balanced, a perfect sword like this. Few are made today, perhaps two every year. Most of the blades that exist are family heritage, like this one. It is still manufactured of steel, and the smith still has to use the old energy of the fire, to give it its shape. You thought bat'thels dreadfully beautiful? Then you have never seen a ketado in action.'   
  
Picard continued to direct his calm look on her face.  
  
'And now, Captain Picard, as you very well know, I have to talk to the Major. Please do excuse us.'  
  
***  
  
'Well, just trust Ian to get lost on a StarBase!'  
  
Just slightly embarassed, Ian picked up the glass in front of him and drank.   
  
David Cranston, a dark, mediterranean type of man, held his glass up, visible to everyone.   
  
'A toast!' he said. 'To Ian Malenkov!' He lowered his voice to a conspirative whisper. 'Our first, and hopefully our last, operative ever to get lost on StarBase89.'  
  
After two embarassed seconds, Ian simply had to join in with the laughter of his mates.   
  
'Sastarovje. Your health,' he said.  
  
'Cheers,' came the echo from the rest of his Rabid Fox squadron.  
  
After Ian had lost him self in the labyrinth-like corridors of SB89, he had tried his best to avoid contact with any of his team.   
  
Useless to say, that he had failed.   
  
Too proud to contact them, he had asked the computer which way to go.  
  
Unfortunately, in just that moment Dave Cranston and Galen Cox, of his team, had come around the corner.   
  
Oops.  
  
Ranna, a tall dark-haired woman tread nearer. Her black eyes – her iris was black due to an early-childhood illness – laughed at him.   
  
'Ian, darling,' she said, chuckling. 'we have got something for you,'  
  
Ian scanned the faces of his comrades and what he saw did not please him.  
  
'Re-a-ll-y?' he asked carefully.  
  
'Yes,' she smiled.  
  
'And what could that be, I wonder?'  
  
Ranna took her hands from behind her and presented him a carefully gift-wrapped present.  
  
Ian eyed her critically, then took the present from her and began to unwrap it. It was a PADD. He activated it, and looked at a detailed sketch of SB89. Ian looked at it in disbelief, and then comprehension set in.   
  
'Ha-ha,' he made.   
  
Everyone laughed. 'So you won't get lost again next time,' Ranna explained, smiling.   
  
'I hate you guys, you know that?' Ian stated.  
  
Rabid Fox mock-saluted and shouted, 'Yes sir, we know sir!'  
  
They earned amused looks and even laughter from the rest of the bar.   
  
But, thank god, they started to wander off to a free table, at the other end of the room.  
  
'We'll be over there, waiting. Captain Ryan said he'd probably join us here, any decade now,' Dave Cranston said, before he turned to join the rest of his team.  
  
Ian nodded. 'I'll just wait until I got my Ale, right?'  
  
Dave waved his OK behind his back.  
  
Turning around on his stool, waiting for his Ale, Ian let his mind wander. He had forgotten something, he was sure of it. But what.   
  
'Your drink sir,' the barman said, interrupting his thoughts.  
  
Ian looked down at the tall glass, filled with a clear blue fluid.  
  
Romulan Ale? he thought. Romulan Al...Oh no!  
  
He searched the walls for a chronometer, and found one above the food replicators. 2049.  
  
Uh-oh  
  
'Hell!' he muttered. 'People, I'm out of here. There's something I gotta do,' he said, turning to his team-mates sitting at one of the big tables near the windows.   
  
He stood up and headed for the door. Before he could reach it, it already had opened and revealed a duo of Klingon warriors.  
  
Ian knew some Klingons were on the station, shipwrecked, their ships destroyed and they had survived it. Waiting for an occasion to hitchhike back to Quo'nos, they were stranded here in the meantime.  
  
He didn't see them at first, and he bumped right into one of them,   
  
an especially angry-looking speciman of his race.  
  
'Sorry,' he muttered when he tried to slip past him.  
  
A strong hand held him back. He looked up and saw two angry Klingons looking down at his face.  
  
'I told you I'm sorry, allright.'  
  
'Why in such a hurry?' the leader of the Klingon party asked, with a faked smile baring unregular, gritted teeth.   
  
'I've got something to do, and it's none of your buisiness. And now, if you'll excuse me,' Ian said, breaking the Klingon's grip on him.  
  
He turned and turned away, but just could go a few steps, until he heard a deep, unfriendly growl from behind him.  
  
'You want to play with that patak piece of flax again! Quotj Q'ua! Turn around!' the Klingon roared.  
  
Several heads turned into their direction, including those of Rabid Fox.  
  
Through immense self-control – and his training – Ian managed not to break the immense Klingon's face.  
  
'Because we are allies,' he snarled, 'I have not heard what you said. Because we are allies.'  
  
Now really wanting to leave, Ian turned to the door and set himself in motion.   
  
The Klingon spat on the floor.  
  
'Coward!' he yelled in a disgusted voice. 'But what could I expect from someone who deals with a Romulan whore.'  
  
All of sudden, the bar was quiet.  
  
Trembling with rage, Ian turned. 'What...did you...say?'  
  
'You heard me you honorless pimp!'  
  
Withtout the slightest warning, the Klingon lunged forward, let himself fall to the floor, and scythed his left leg through the space occupied by Ian's.   
  
As Ian leapt above the sweep, the Klingon let the momentum of his kick twist him over to the stomach, then started another sweep with his right leg.   
  
The kick caught a surprised Ian's ankles and smashed them together as he came down. He landed heavily on the floor, but before the Klingon could turn and lunge forward to pin him, Ian was on his feet again.   
  
He dropped into a crouch, and waved the now furious Klingon forward.   
  
'Now come on, Klingon. Do you always give up so easily?' he said circling his enemy. Though the Klingon warrior stood a third of a meter taller than Ian, and outweighed him by at least twenty kilo, Ian had an advantage: his smaller size, and his agility, acquired through years of training.  
  
Make him angry Ian. Angry Klingons make mistakes.  
  
'What's up?' he continued. 'I would have expected more stamina from a Klingon warr...'  
  
The Klingon's lunge forward made him break off. He spun to the left, just eluding the Klingon's outstretched right hand, then darted forward. He hooked his right leg behind the Klingon right knee, then grabbed the Klingon's shoulder and threw him down.   
  
His fingers stiffened into a spearpoint, he held his right hand over the Klingon's throat. 'Now what?' he asked mockingly.  
  
The Klingon glanced sidewards, then stiffened.   
  
'Go on. Kill me.'  
  
Before Ian could somehow answer, he heard a metallic thump behind him, then another dull sound, as if something had hit the floor.   
  
He turned his head, and saw the other Klingon warrior lying on the ground, unconscious, a combat knife lying near his head. He looked at the knife. He looked at his team-mates, Ranna standing in front of the table.  
  
Obviously, a knife threwn by her had hit the second Klingon in the back of his head with its dull end, and had sent him to the floor.  
  
Even more obviously, the Klingon had tried to sneak up at Ian from behind.  
  
'Thanks Ranna.'  
  
She nodded at him.   
  
Just then, Ian heard the hiss of the door opening. He turned his head back again, and saw a security detail rushing in, phasers in hand.   
  
They surrounded him and the two grounded Klingons.  
  
'Sir. Get away from him.'  
  
Reluctantly, Ian stood, and was lead out of the room.  
  
***  
  
'Please tell me it's not true.'  
  
Ian said nothing, but only continued to stare at a point roughly ten centimeters above his friend's head.  
  
Ryan shook his head. 'I just don't believe it. You, of all people, should have known better.' He sighed. 'Lock the room and sit down please.'  
  
Reaching behind him, Ian tapped a combination of buttons, then sat down in the chair standing in front of Ryan's desk.  
  
Christopher Ryan gazed at him intensively.  
  
'If Shelby finds out about this, there's a chance you'll get sacked.'  
  
'I know.'  
  
'Heaven's sake, why? Why were you killing that Klingon?'   
  
'That's something I prefer not to talk about. Besides, I really couldn't influence it, and I wouldn't have killed him.'  
  
'I know you wouldn't have, but what's that "I couldn't influence it"?' Ryan shook his head slightly, then looked back at the his monitor. He gave Malenkov no time to answer.  
  
'I reckon however,' he said, 'from what the witnesses say, he started the fight.'  
  
Ian opened his mouth, wanting to explain himself, but Ryan raised his right hand and stopped the sentence before it could be spoken.  
  
'No, wait,' he said. 'I have to make sure I got this right.' He took a breath. 'You were at the bar, when you realized you had forgotten a date – with whom, you are not going to tell me – and you started to leave. Then this Klingon appeared and started a fight. Just like that.'   
  
Ken nodded in agreement.  
  
'That's about it,' he said.  
  
'What did he say?'  
  
'He...made some comments about my date.'  
  
'What? Why on earth should he do that?'  
  
Ian winced and shifted nervously on his seat. He started rising from his chair, but was stopped by Ryan's look.  
  
'Really, I should go now, we...'  
  
'Ian,' Ryan interrupted. 'I'm your friend.'  
  
'It's not that, it's...'  
  
'Allright then. I'm your comanding officer, Leftenant. You should know that you should tell me right now, before I really get upset.'  
  
'Hell, I...she's Romulan.'  
  
If Ryan had held a cup of coffee, and had he been drinking it at that time, this would have been one of those occasions where, due to a strange narrative agreement among authors, he inevitably would have had to choke.   
  
He looked at Ian incredulously.  
  
'You're kidding!...You're not kidding?'  
  
Ian shook his head. 'She's been assigned as exchange officer to the Enterprise.'  
  
Ryan's eyes clearly showed disbelief. He studied his friend carefully.  
  
'My deputy went stark-raving mad, in the middle of a war,' Ryan mused. 'She, of course, is pretty, I trust?'  
  
'She's more than just pretty,' Ian interrupted. 'I mean, she's smart, she's intelligent, she's...'  
  
'Romulan?' Ryan suggested.   
  
'She's incredible!'  
  
Ryan waved a hand impatiently. 'Whatever.'  
  
'You can't understand this, I mean, you haven't seen her and you haven't...' He hesitated. 'Anything I say now would sound stupid, wouldn't it?  
  
'Spoken like a man in love.'  
  
For a minute or so, there was complete silence.   
  
'You know, don't you, that there's a big chance that she's Tal Shiar ?'  
  
Ian wanted to protest, but his friend was right. Janika being here, it was practically certain that Talina was Tal Shiar. The possibility of positioning an agent onboard the Fleet's flagship was, so far, unique. A Tal Shiar agent was the obvious choice for the position.  
  
But then, something else came to his mind.  
  
He smiled triumphantly.  
  
'But, you said there is now an Alliance between our governments. So, what wrong can their be?'  
  
Immediately, Ryan opened his mouth in protest, but shut it again, after realizing that he hadn't really got a sound and logical argument against the one brought up by his friend.   
  
After considering the problem for a few seconds, he finally prompted for prejudices.  
  
'She's Romulan,' he repeated.   
  
'I know. So?'  
  
'You know what Tal Shiar is like! I bet you, they're up to something.'  
  
Being the professional that he was, that thought had also crossed Ian's mind. But after knowing Talina for nearly ten days now, he had dismissed it pretty quickly.  
  
'Listen, Chris. I only told you about the whole thing, because we are friends. And because I trust you. Now, please trust me. I know what I'm getting myself into.'  
  
'I doubt it, but what choice have I got?' Ryan sighed sadly. 'Shelby'll go spare if she knew about this.'  
  
Ian grinned. 'My thought exactly. Question is, are you going to tell her?'  
  
Ryan studied his friend's face carefully. 'No,' he finally resolved. 'You're my friend, and I do trust you. Besides, I still owe you for saving my butt on Turkana IV.'  
  
Ian nodded. 'Thanks,' he said, and stood up to leave the room.   
  
'Just one thing Ian.'  
  
He turned. 'Yes?'  
  
'I have managed to persuade Admiral Haze not to file a complaint. Or to contact Shelby. That cost me two authentic – and very old - bottles of Saurian Brandy and a lot of charisma. Is she worth it?'  
  
Ian thought about that. For about point-five seconds. 'Yes. Yes, she's definitively worth it.'  
  
He turned to leave, but then another thing came to his mind.   
  
'Hey Chris,' he said. 'What time is it, anyway?'  
  
Ryan consulted his monitor.  
  
'About half past ten. Why?'  
  
'Oh hell,' Ian muttered, leaving the room, and a perplexed Captain Ryan.   
  
***  
  
One thing I like about her is that she gives every place she's in for a while her touch, Ian thought, as he entered Talina's quarters.  
  
He had overriden her door's access control, by entering his security clearance. He could enter practically every room he wanted with that code.  
  
Though she had been assigned that room only a few days ago, it already looked a bit...Romulan. A beautiful potrait of a Warbird hung above the standard-issue working desk, and somewhere he believed he had seen ancient Romulan artifacts and ceremonial weapons.  
  
Ian walked over to her bedroom.   
  
She was asleep, almost curled into a ball on her bed, when he came in. Her beautiful silky black hair was spread out around her thin white face.  
  
He let the door close behind him and indulged in the rare moment, the chance to observe her freely, to run his eyes over her without fear of discovery, with only his conscience and desire for witnesses.  
  
The dark robe she wore didn't very much emphasise every single of her curves, but Ryan was stunned at the beauty of her lean body. Her thin legs, her rounded hips, slim waist, the gentle half crescent of her chest, everything was, for lack of a better word, perfect. His gaze caressed each detail and memorized it, finally travelling further along her body, to her graceful neck, leading up to a tanned face flushed with the slightest of the green of her blood, like all her skin.  
  
He let the longing seize his chest, as he observed the thin dark-red lines of her lips, the hollow of her cheeks, her lovely snub-nose, the slant of her closed eyes, the curves of her arched eyebrows, her slightly pointed ears, hardly visible underneath her fine hair.   
  
Her long fingers twitched in her sleep and he allowed himself a little warm smile.   
  
What are you dreaming about, Major Talina?  
  
This was all wrong. His heart-beat shouldn't increase at the mere sight of her. Given the current situation and what had just happened, she was not his to admire, not the way he was now looking at her.   
  
But on the other hand, he had nothing to be ashamed of. She was a fellow brave. Intelligent and caring, and pretty.  
  
Not pretty, he corrected himself. Beautiful. Nothing less than wonderfully beautiful.  
  
At first, he had told himself that that was all to it.  
  
He was simply attracted to her because she was attractive.  
  
But he was to intelligent a man to ignore the truth, and he knew himself too well to deny it.   
  
It was strange that some people just fell in love after mere days, while others waited for years, because they don't recognize their own feelings, or because they are afraid of them.  
  
He had struggled with his feelings since the beginning. His loyalty to his unit and government forbade him such a relationship, but what was he supposed to do?  
  
Kill her, like the other Romulans, Cardassians and Klingons he had killed on other missions?  
  
No, never. He would never hurt her. He would never let anyone hurt her.   
  
Slowly approaching her bed, he sat down beside her.  
  
He ran his right hand through her hair. After a while, he rested it on her neck, stroking her left ear with his thumb.  
  
He continued doing this, even after she had stirred and her eyes had fluttered open as she slowly had regained consciousness.  
  
'Not that I would mind, but why are you doing that?' she whispered, her voice still muddled with sleep.  
  
'Good morning my dear. Or should I say Good night? And I don't know why I am doing this, only that I'm enjoying it,' he said, his voice a low whisper.  
  
'I was beginning to think you'd have forgotten me,' she purred teasingly.  
  
He leaned down on her slowly, and Talina parted her lips slightly in anticipation. But instead of kissing her, Ian just brushed his lips over the tip of her nose.  
  
Talina closed her eyes briefly as she felt her pulse quicken at this simple yet sensual touch.   
  
'I got...stuck up in the bar. Sorry.'  
  
'What happened?' she asked, looking at him for only the second time since she had awakened.   
  
'I...met some Klingons,' he admitted, still stroking her ear.  
  
For a moment there was a stunned silence.  
  
'Oh.'  
  
'We had some sort of...argument.'  
  
'About what?'  
  
'Um...well, frankly...you.'  
  
She raised her eyebrows.  
  
'He apparently didn't like it that his ally was dealing with a Romulan. And somehow...we kinda had a little row.'  
  
'You mean you fought him?'  
  
Ian nodded his head.  
  
'Did you win?'  
  
Ian allowed himself a proud grin.  
  
'Last thing he saw was my fist hovering above his face.'  
  
Talina smiled, showed her white, even teeth. Then she drew him down and kissed him slowly.  
  
Reluctantly, they separated.   
  
'What did I do to deserve that?' Ian asked, breathless but content.  
  
She looked in his eyes, steely green-blue ones in emerald green.  
  
'You were ready to defend me. And no matter what the Klingons say, Romulans do have a sense of honor, and we are very careful about it. Defending me against that Klingon is something no Romulan will forget. Something, I won't forget. Iie Haiy-kama Sihaya.'  
  
They embraced and enjoyed the silence for a while.  
  
Then Ian's brain kicked in and translated what she had said.  
  
He looked at her, surprised.  
  
'What is it?' Talina asked.  
  
'What did you say?' Ian whipsered.   
  
'I thanked you. Don't you understand Romulan?' she challenged.  
  
'Actually, I do speak it quite well. But, why Sihaya?'  
  
Talina's disappointment at that question was considerable, and she could not quite keep it from showing on her face.  
  
'I'm sorry...I thought...' she stuttered, hurt.  
  
'It's a dialect, isn't it? From Remus.'  
  
She nodded solemnly.  
  
'I was born on Remus,' she whispered.  
  
'As far as I know it means ... "Desert green"?'  
  
Talina nodded again. 'Desert Spring.'  
  
'Remus is much of a desert world,' she explained, 'with only little water and vegetation, but of a very exotic beauty. We didn't terraform it, so there still are vast deserts, but we always found ways to survive, found food and water, found spring in a desert. Sihaya means "Desert Spring", to honour the world that has nourished and harboured us for so many years.'  
  
Her voice betrayed her calm explanation, she knew.  
  
Ian's eyes widened when, due to her explanation and his knowledge of Romulan culture, the full implications of such simple a word dawned on him.   
  
'I think the Betazoids have a similar word,' Talina said. 'Izmadi or so I think.'  
  
'Imzadi,' Ian corrected.  
  
Talina nodded again. 'It doesn't quite match the Romulan expression of course, but it is similar enough.'  
  
'And you called me that? Me?'  
  
Nod.   
  
'I am...honored, but...you should be careful what you say,' he advised her. He didn't really believe he was actually saying this though.  
  
'I don't see why I should have said anything else...Sihaya,' Talina countered defiantly.  
  
'You'll get into trouble,' he warned, leaning closer to her. 'Romulus would approve with this no more than the Klingons or StarFleet.'  
  
'How could I refuse the calling of my heart?'  
  
Good question, he thought.  
  
Ian kissed her.  
  
'That means more to me than you will ever know.'  
  
He rose from the bed, and pulled her to her feet.   
  
Talina directed her calm, green-blue gaze at his eyes and this time, she was the one to move forward. Their faces were even, and she tilted her head slightly to one side, pressing her lips on his.  
  
Her tongue tickled his lips ever so gently, until they slowly parted.   
  
When he responded to her, she pulled him closer, her arms around his neck, and deepened their kiss.  
  
Ian gathered her in his arms and hugged her fiercely.  
  
They remained in each other's arms, oblivious to anything else until they could hear Ian's stomach grumble.  
  
He smiled.  
  
'We still haven't eaten anything yet. Should we go to Ten Forward?' he whispered.  
  
Talina shook her head.  
  
'I don't think so.'  
  
He raised his eyebrows. 'No?'  
  
She pressed a hand to his lips and looked into his eyes.   
  
'No. I don't want this to end now; not today, not tonight. There will be other romantic candle-light dinners, Ian Malenkov, and I would be proud and pleased to attend them with you.'  
  
'But not tonight.'  
  
She shook her head.  
  
'No, not tonight. Tonight, I have something else to give you.'  
  
When she had turned away from him, she began unfastening her robe and Ian's eyes widened even more. While she still was fumbling with her cloth, she spoke to him.  
  
'I will be leaving here in a short time. I have been assigned to another mission, but I will return.'  
  
'Me too,' Ryan said, eyes still focused on her back. 'I'll leave here tomorrow morning.'  
  
'Yet another reason why I should give you this,' she said, slowly turning around.  
  
'And I think we really shouldn't, ah...' Ian's voice trailed off when he realized that she still wore a fashionable jumpsuit beneath her robe. Somehow, he felt incredibly embarassed.  
  
'Shouldn't what?'  
  
'N-nevermind...ah...You were saying?'  
  
Talina gave him a confused Humans!-look.   
  
But her expression softened when she took her hands from behind her back, and revealed a long green sash. She handed it over to him.  
  
Ian took it carefully and let his fingers play with it. It was made of a smooth fabric, like silk, yet different.  
  
'What is it?' he asked. 'It's marvellous.'  
  
'We call it sakhram. It is made of sanglamo, a very rare textile, very fine, but it also keeps the warmth very well. We get it when we major at a...special school. You would call it a talisman, but to us, it is more of a relic.'  
  
Ian looked up from the sash.  
  
'If it that important, I can't accept it, I...'  
  
'Take it,' Talina said softly. 'And wear it. Please, it's important to me. A sakhram brings luck, and I hope it will protect you as well as it did protect me,' she said. Her soft, melodic voice was the sweetest sound Ian could imagine.  
  
Talina took the sash from his hands, and drew it across his forehead.   
  
She fastened it behind his back, and withdrew her hand, but in doing so letting it touch his cheek. Ian pulled her closer.  
  
'Thank you,' he whispered.   
  
Talina let her fingers wander across his face, touched his lips, the ridge of his nose, his temples.  
  
After a while, they agreed to go to the neighbouring room, and sat on the couch. Ian put his arm around Talina's shoulder and pulled her close to his body. Her head resting against his, their fingers entwined, they fell asleep. 


	9. Chapter 9 - Sword and Fire

« The role of a warrior is to be more than  
  
the highest of castes. It is to protect  
  
the weak, defend the innocent, to be more  
  
than just a mere soldier as in ages past.  
  
No, a warrior is to be more than just the  
  
genetics that have formed him or her. »  
  
-Franklin Osis  
  
***  
  
Chapter 9 – Sword and Fire  
  
In Orbit  
  
Corvus II  
  
The day after  
  
'Major? Atmospheric interference in one minute,' Colonel Sela's voice cracked from the tiny headset speakers clamped over Major Jera's ears. 'Drop in five.'  
  
Jera acknowledged the message, then the nekekami agent opened a channel to his human counterpart, Captain Christopher Ryan.  
  
'What is it, Jera?' the tall, sand-blonde human asked over the intercom. In the short time the two elite teams and their leaders had personnally known each other, the two men had become something closer to friends than any of them could have imagined before. He guessed that the professionalism of both units made their cooperation somewhat easier.  
  
'Chris, we're going to drop in about five minutes. Is the Fox ready?'   
  
'You bet he is. And what about your kittens?' he asked, referring to Jera's unit's name : nekekam, The Spirit Cat  
  
Jera shook his head, smiling. 'Human sense of humor. Something I'll never understand.'  
  
Ryan grinned, as he checked his combat gear for the last time. He was firmly secured in it, lacking only the helmet.   
  
The Nighthawk combat gears his team used on such mission, were modified industrial exo-skeletons. The protective armor was capable of deflecting any known phaser blast, up to strength five, and enhanced the wearer's strength, mobility and speed. It featured a high-energy phaser, mounted on the right arm, and a small grenade launcher on the left, but the finely shaped hand allowed him to carry an auxilliary weapon, just like normal infantry would.  
  
Integrated in it's helmet were sensor and communication systems, and a rather unusual display. When activated, the display showed a 360° view of the field, pressed into the 120° field of view his V-shaped visor allowed him. Due to this fact, it took extended and intensive training to control the gear.  
  
In addition, the suits possessed a skin, made of mimetic polymer, commonly called sneak-coating. This high-tech camouflage allowed the suit to blend in, chameleon-like, with his surroundings. The suits were fitted with highly accurate sensors and electronic countermeasures, making them perfect for reconnaissance. In addition, a small but powerful jump-pack and stub wings would even allow the troopers to bound across the battlefields, like flying mantisses.   
  
Beaming being too risky, due to the sensible scanners the enemy used, Major Jera, the leader of the mission, had prompted for the old fashioned way, a High Altitude Low Opening drop. The mission plan called for the insertion of the commandos over the drop zone in the middle of the night, at around 0300, local time. The darkness would provide cover for the commandos, while the timing of the drop would ensure that those who were awake on the ground would be on their lowest ebb, both physically and mentally. It was a long-used tactic, but one against their foes could not possibly find a countermeasure.   
  
DEST was to attack the camp from the south, and Rabid Fox would make their way from the north, liberating what they could of the prisoners, while the Romulan team would draw the Guard's attention.   
  
Several hours earlier, the DEST and Rabid Fox teams had made their way to their respective shuttle bays. No shuttles were parked there, only the powered-down Nighthawk gears.   
  
The commandos had spent the last hours, preparing for combat and planning their operation. The 'Chinese Parliament' they had introduced allowed each man and woman to utter his opinion, and the whole team worked on the battleplans, not only the leaders, independent from ranks or experience. Ryan let his mind replay the events of the last hours.  
  
When the Romulan ships had entered orbit over Corvus II, their powerful sensors had picked up their target, the White storage deposit. They had also discovered heavy air defense system, a dense pattern of gun turrets, mounted with twin Repetier Dominion Blasters; and the prison camp.  
  
Deciding that a bombardment from orbit was the best solution, the Romulan Infantry had only been deployed after the defensive structures had been eliminated. The powerful Romulan disruptors had vaporized any defense, and blowing up the storage silos afterwards had been an easy task.   
  
Only after then primary goal had been achieved, DEST and Rabid Fox had been released. The Fox team was not big, one squadron, parted in four teams of six men each, with the remaining six troopers as reserve. DEST was slightly smaller, three teams of six men each. But what they lacked in numbers, the commandos made up in quality. The handpicked DEST teams were well worth their training, being raised to espionage, sabotage, and assassination from their earliest childhood.  
  
A frontal assault could have led to atrocities by the Cardassian guards, so the task force had decided on DEST attacking the main gate, then withdrawing, to draw the Guards away from the prisoners. Ryan and Rabid Fox would then overrun the remaining guards, liberate the prisoners, and if necessary help DEST.   
  
As Ryan settled his helmet over his head, a quartet of ship's crewmen scuttled around him, and errected his four-parted drop pod. This thick, heavy egg of ceramic and duranium would protect him and his people from the incredible heat air-friction would create when the pod entered the atmosphere. To prevent detection from enemy sensors, the pods were given two layers of Radar Absorbing Material. In theory, the outer layer of RAM would protect the pods on their fall through Corvus' upper atmosphere. The coat of high-tech paint would be burned away by the entry heating, along with the pod's ablative shell. The inner RAM layer would continue to protect them, until it slit apart deep in the planet's atmosphere. If things went according to plan, the teams would then be well 'under' the enemy sensor net.  
  
The pods were larger than the ones the team had previously used, so the soldier inside could at least kneel in an upright position, rather then being curled up in a ball.   
  
At various places, the ship's crew was likewise occupied. This was the part of an orbital drop Ryan hated most. In order to protect the occupant from the immense entry heat, the pods had to be made of thick, solid material. The major dropback there was that any communication, while in the pod, was impossible, and that the occupant was completely cut off from the outside.   
  
As soon as the last panel of his pod was bolted into place, the egg-like container rocked heavily. Ryan knew that they were being lifted into the ship's drop chute. Locked inside his capsule, Ryan tried to anticipate the moment when Colonel Janika would give the command to eject the pods. He knew approximately how long it took to place the pods and seal the chutes, and watched the chronometre fitted in his suit's viewscreen, counting down the seconds until...  
  
Unexpectedly the world dropped out from underneath him. His count had been off by nearly ten seconds. For a few seconds, the pod fell free. Dimly, through his shell, Ryan could hear the roar of the wind, as his pod punched through the air like a rifle bullet. Despite the heavy insulation of his pod, and the environmental protection of his suit, heat began to creep up his legs and back. His pod, and, he prayed, those of his men, was entering Corvus' upper atmosphere, where air-friction would heat the capsule's ablative cover to a hellish temperature. Ryan hoped that any enemy soldier seeing the fiery streak the team's drop pods were scoring across the night sky, would assume that they were shooting stars, and perhaps make a wish.  
  
I know what I'd wish for. Ryan snorted a bitter laugh. I'd wish that the Cardis would stay fat, dumb and happy.  
  
Looking at his chronometre, Ryan estimated the time left until his pod would enter the world's lower atmosphere. This time, he was right on mark.  
  
Just as his count reached zero, the pod split into six narrow sections and peeled away, leaving him falling through space. Arching his back as far back as his suit permitted, Ryan fought to bring himself under control. As he settled to the spread-eagle position dictated for HALO jumps, he searched the sky for the rest of his team. At first, the black-armoured troopers were invisible. Switching to his visor's integrated thermal scanner allowed him to pick out the falling commandos as barely lighter patches against the cool darkness of the sky. His suit held away the outer influences, cold wind, or heat. For a change, the blasted thing was working correctly.   
  
With outstretched arms and legs, the troopers maneuvred into a rough aerial formation, placing themselves beind their leader. Following the discretes of his helmet's Head-Up-Display, Ryan angled off in the night sky, aiming for an unseen point on the planet below. Like a flock of silent predator birds, the sixteen men and women under his command followed his lead.   
  
Making the drop itself wasn't particularly difficult. Finding the right drop-zone was. Without navigational aids or drop beacon, the team had to drop almost blindly, trusting the data ploaded into the suits on-board computer to direct them to the right place.  
  
Ryan's altimeter clicked over to five hundred meters. Two seconds later, Ryan's drogue chute opened, slowing his fall. At two hundred meters the main nylon canopy deplyed with a muted pop. A carful look upwards assured Ryan that the air-foil parachute had opened correctly.   
  
As the ground rushed nearer, Ryan wheeled into the wind, bringing himself to a gentle, upright landing. No sooner had he touched down than he slapped the quick-release harness, freeing himself from the now limply flapping parachute. All around him, the rest of his troopers were doing the same.   
  
Loudlessly, by means of hand-signals, his team checked in. All had made the HALO drop safely.  
  
***  
  
It was Tom Paris' first "seeing the sky", and he had asked Ro to come with him.  
  
She had agreed, although her mood was extremely low. The last night, a woman in their barracks had died painfully of pneumonia. She had looked old, Tom had estimated her around fifty years old, but it turned out that she had only been thirty.  
  
Ro hadn't taken her death very well. In such camps as this, one develops tight bonds to friends, and losing one is much more difficult than anywhere else. And now that Paris saw that Ro Laren was on the brink of giving up, he felt terrible himself. Ro had always been his greatest aide here; he didn't know what he would have done without her.   
  
They had been allowed to shower,then had used the day to get some real sleep. Now, hours later, they were sitting on a hot rock on Mount Szabo. The sky had gone into a deep violet, and the zenit showed itself in the brightest indigo. But the smell of acrid dust was still there.  
  
And there was another danger out here, a small insect, with three centimeter-long wings, who drilled itself into the soft human skin and deposed its eggs there, slowly poisoning their hosts. Somehow the parasites always lived longer than the victim, and the only cure was to talk a guard into burning the wound out with a phaser set on the lowest energy level.  
  
So it was even possible to bribe the guards.  
  
Sex seemed to be the main currency, and Tom didn't want to know what his shower earlier had cost someone.  
  
But despite of the danger, Tom enjoyed the sky. Here he could see the stars, and he could see what Ro had meant with that last hope they had in the camp.  
  
They were sitting in the dark; it was already well into the night it seemed, and Tom tried to comfort Ro over the loss of her friend. He even got a smile when he pointed at dozens of shoting stars entering the atmosphere, leaving a fiery trail, and had asked her to make a wish.  
  
They had never seen so many shoting stars at a time.  
  
He turned to Ro.  
  
'You really hate the Cardassians, don't you?'  
  
'Does it show?' Ro asked bitterly.  
  
'Shenja. Look at me.' He gently tilted her chin upwards with his hand and looked into her eyes.  
  
'We'll get away from here,' he whispered. 'Somehow, we'll get off this bloody rock. I promise.'  
  
'Don't make promises you can't keep...baru. Do you know why I am here? I got captured on a mission for the Maquis. But that doesn't matter. The past doesn't matter here. Here, we're all the same. We're all dead. All of us.'  
  
Tom studied her in the dark. Even crusted with dirt, Ro Laren had somehow looked attractive. Without the dirt she certainly was pretty, the hard work hadn't yet destroyed her body. She was strong, certainly, but somehow also strangely feminine and soft.  
  
Now, she looked...broken. Ro's eagerness to survive, her determination, all had died with the poor woman last evening.   
  
She had changed.  
  
'We aren't dead,' Tom said aloud.  
  
'No? Then it is even worse. We are slaves who refuse to free themselves!'  
  
She looked across the life-hazardous deser! in front of her, let her gaze wander over the vulcans in the distance.   
  
'Do you know how many times I have thought about...just going?'  
  
Tom shook his head.  
  
'Fourteen times. Everytime I come up here, I tell myself "This time you'll have the courage! This time you'll do it!"  
  
Tom desperately wanted to shush her into silence, to say something comforting, but he couldn't think of anything that would have helped the situation.  
  
'But I don't just walk away,' she continued. 'I always return to my masters. In the last four months, nobody went away. They've broken us, Tom. They've really broken us.'  
  
She leaned against Tom's shoulder and began to cry heavily. He cradled her softly and caressed her back, wishing he could do anything to comfort her. Truly comfort her.  
  
'Fourteen times!' she sobbed, then calmed down a little. 'Fourteen times I have come up here, determined to do it. Fifteen times if you count today. But this time, it's different, anyway.'  
  
'Why?'  
  
'Because today, there is someone whom I don't want to leave. And that's even worse.'  
  
'Worse? Why worse?'  
  
'Don't you see? We are slaves! Any of us could die, at any time. You're the best friend I ever had, Tom, and now you're here and...'  
  
She thrusted up and kicked some stones in her way, frustrated.   
  
'Can I tell you something?' Tom's voice cut through the uncomfortable silence.  
  
She nodded, but did not turn.  
  
'I came here today to say Good-bye. I wanted to leave today.'  
  
'You're lying,' Ro said, still looking into the other direction.  
  
'I'm not. I haven't lived through the same horrors as you. Not even a 14th of what you have experienced, but I came here, today, to die.'  
  
Ro spun around when she heard this. Her face glistened with wetness.  
  
'You have to promise me something!'she said.  
  
'Promise what?'  
  
'That you'll live.'  
  
Tom looked at her, surprised.   
  
'I can't bear this place without you, shenja. If you don't go, I won't neither. Deal?'   
  
Ro nodded. 'Deal.'  
  
'Come here.'  
  
Ro walked into his outstretched arms and hugged him.  
  
When their eyes met, neither of them spoke for a while.  
  
'We have a deal, ok?' Paris said. 'We can always wait until a cycle is over, then come back here and decide it we want to live on. If not, we'll go together.'   
  
Ro nodded.  
  
'None of us will have to go alone, I promise,' Paris said as he cupped her face, kissed her ridged nose and looked in her eyes again.   
  
Their was nothing sexual or passionate in the look they exchanged.  
  
What held them together at that moment was far stronger than passion.  
  
***  
  
A low pop sounded in Jera's headset, followed by a pause. A series of pops followed the first in a three, pause, two pattern.  
  
Clucking his tongue againts his teeth, Jera sent the countersignal.  
  
Two, two, one.   
  
In response to his signal, a handful of shadows, darker than the deep night, flitted into the small grove of scrubby thorn trees which he and his men had been sheltering. The grove, half a kilometre south of his squadrons drop zone, had been designated as the primary rendezvous point for his and the Federation commando unit. Jera was both proud and impressed by the men and women of DEST – and Rabid Fox. Before their three weeks of training together, neither of the units had even dreamed about training HALO drops, but all men had, with little to none navigational aide, reached the respective drop zones safely.  
  
By means of hand-signals, he indicated both of his subordinates, Majors Yosuke and Shannara to take off their helmet, so that they could talk without using the intercomm system.   
  
'I think we landed a bit more south than we intended,' Jera began, speaking in a low whisper. 'It's hard to tell without accurate maps. That means we've got to push hard to reach our objective on schedule.   
  
The hushed voice was not really necessary. It was hardly likely that there were any Cardassians in the near vicinity. But, a near mania for stealth and secrecy had become so ingrained in the commandos, that they spoke in low tones out of sheer habit.   
  
'Allright, we'll travel in a column. Shannara, you're on point, me next, and Yosuke, you'll form the rear. I don't expect any sentries, but it's possible, so keep your men alert. If you see anyone, avoid contact if any possible. Pull back, and we'll try to bypass them. Everyone clear?'   
  
The majors signaled their comprehension.  
  
Jera tapped his communicator. It zirped.  
  
"Ryan."  
  
'Jera. My mark, zeta-charlie-charlie-gamma. Ready...mark!'  
  
"Gotit. Over."  
  
A Cardassian or Dominion sentry, unfortunate enough to overhear the sort converstation, would have heard the whispered words, and would have been puzzled at what they meant.  
  
Risking compromising their position by normal communication, the two elite teams could only speak briefly and coded.  
  
"zero-charlie-charlie-go" in reality meant 0337 hours. Each letter of the alphabet had been assigned a number, A was one, B was two, Z was zero, etc. They had taken that measure so that, even in the unlikely case their communication would be picked up by sentries, nobody would be able to decipher it.  
  
Jera looked at his men.  
  
'Allright then, move it!'  
  
Without a word, Yosuke and Shannara returned to their teams to pass along his orders.   
  
Jera re-joined his own team and explained what he had decided. Moments late, DEST team four led off, fading silently into the night.   
  
The other teams followed as directed by Jera, leaving almost no trace of their passage. Had anyone been present to see the hideous, black-armored shapes passing from shadow to shadow, they would have been tempted to call what they saw a legion of ghosts wandering the hill in search for some kind of supernatural vengeance.   
  
***  
  
When they returned from Mount Szabo, Tom caught a small flash of light, out of the corner of his eye. He turned, and searched the area for a trace of what could have provoked it. He found none.  
  
Ro turned her still tear-stained face and looked at him.  
  
'What is it?' she asked.   
  
'Nothing, just...I just thought I saw a flash of light, some hundreds of meters from where we left.'  
  
They turned both, but none of them could discover anything.  
  
'C´mon,' Ro said after a while. 'We have to go, or we'll get into trouble.'  
  
***  
  
'There it is,' Ryan whispered in Lieutenant Ranna's ear.   
  
Under normal circumstances, his team's journey to Mount Szabo would have lasted under two hours, but hardly anything Rabid Fox did, really was normal. Every hundred metres or so, the commandos would hunker down in a loose defensive formation, silent, watching, and listening for any sign of enemy sentries.   
  
The going was dreadfully slow, but the trade-off of stealth and secrecy was worth it. As a result, it had taken his unit almost four and a half hours to reach Mount Szabo, where it was now lying down flat against the ground, their Nighthawk gears blending in with the grassy surroundings.   
  
Now, more or less two hundred meters away, loomed the prison camp, their target. So close to a Dominion outpost, it would be foolish to use communicators, so they had to rely on the fact that the chronometres of both his and Jera's team worked synchronous.  
  
0747  
  
'How do you read it, Lieutenant?'  
  
Ranna, the only half-Human, half-Vulcan woman he knew, clapped a pair of electronic binoculars against her unvisored, dark-brown eyes, and studied the scene before her for a long time.  
  
Sometimes, Ryan actually felt attracted to the woman, in a strange way which he could not really explain.   
  
Though Ranna enjoyed the added protection and strength of the Nighthawk suits, she didn't trust them completely. Instead, she preferred to use older, more proved equipment, especially for reconnaissance, such as the old-fashioned binoculars she always carried with her.   
  
After carefully surveing the camp and the surrounding area, Ranna passed the binoculars to her commander.   
  
'Take a look.'  
  
Pressing the eyepieces against his face, Ryan adjusted the instrument until he had a clear, sharp view of the area.   
  
The prison camp was surrounded by a probably four meter-high force-field perimeter. In essence, the camp was rectangular, perhaps five hundred meters long, and two hundred wide.   
  
There were two large, flat buildings, barracks.  
  
Slightly more to the far end, another building stood, higher and narrower than the barracks. Presumably the guard's quarters.   
  
A large silo stood between the two barracks.  
  
The main entry was on the opposite side of his men's position, as not Ryan, but Jera had the task of attacking it.   
  
Two towers had been errected, on the left and right of the gate. They were open, just a platform with a railing. A total of four Jem H'Adar manned them.   
  
Another six Cardassian guards were positioned near the mining site, some hundred metres from the outermost force-fields. On a near open place, two platoons of Jem H'Adar were training. But all targets were sheltered by the invisible energy field, exept the one on the towers.  
  
Yet, some force-fields had been errected around the mining site as well. Dozens of prisoners were scuttling around it, and probably a lot more were currently working inside it.   
  
'So, what do you think?' Ranna's urgent whisper brought Ryan back to the task at hand.   
  
'Looks impossible, doesn't it?' he said.  
  
'True.' Ranna nodded with a sly chuckle. 'But the impossible only takes a bit longer.'  
  
Ryan grinned back at the woman.  
  
He had known her for some years now, but, before entering his team, Ranna had never expressed herself like this. Now, such aphorisms were becoming a common part of her vocabulary.  
  
Before either of them could speak again, another NightHawk gear crawled up behind them.  
  
From the awkward movements it made, Ryan could tell that it was not one of his men.  
  
'Are you allright Lieutenant Torres?' he asked.  
  
'I'll live.'  
  
'You won't if you don't stay close to me! This isn't just about your friend, all right? There are more lives than one on stake,' Ian Malenkov whispered angrily, crawling nearer their position.  
  
If Klingon glances could kill, he would have been transformed into a smoldering heap of ashes in a matter of two seconds.  
  
At that moment, Ranna formed a fist and held it down at the ground. The sign that her sensors had picked up something.  
  
Just a few seconds later, two figures walked past them, a mere fifty meters away. Everything was quiet.  
  
Ryan didn't notice that the sun caught in his helm's blackened visor and was reflected across the open field that lay ahead of them, and into the eye of one of the figures.  
  
'My men are in position and ready,' Ian told his CO when the two had disappeared.   
  
Ryan nodded. He looked at his chronometer.  
  
0756  
  
'Any minute now,' he said.   
  
***  
  
'There! You saw it?'  
  
'I didn't see anything Tom; it's just your imagination. Come on now, or we'll get into real trouble!'  
  
Ro pushed him forwards and they hurried back to their barracks.  
  
***  
  
Major Jera and the twelve men of DEST Teams Four and Three lay on their stomachs, waiting. About a mile in front of them, Team Six was hidden in the meter-high, dry grass of Corvus' only jungle, and waited for their trap to snap shut.  
  
While their combat gears isolated all radiation from their body and made them practically undetectable on scanners, one of Team Six' agents had placed a decoy buoy which was now emitting fake body signatures. The plan to ambush the guards was simple, yet promised success, at the lowest risk possible.  
  
When the guards had picked up the fake emissions, they would send out a search party, to eliminate the intruders. They would detect the buoy, and at that moment Team Six would open fire and put up a short combat. The enemey would probably call for reinforcements, but on Jera's order Team Six would retreat, and lead the pursuing guards to the waiting troopers.  
  
As they had crept across the rocky plateau, on their way to the camp, Jera had surveyed the ground, analyzed every boulder, every shrub, every clearing. Almost unbidden, his mind had formulated, assessed and discarded plans for an ambush.  
  
Finally, half an hour ago, in a shadowy, rocky defile, Jera had given the order, and the commandos had halted. The gap, forming an east-to-west passage through a near mountain, was to wide for Jera's liking, and the rocky sides were too gently sloped but it would have to do.   
  
Quickly his teams had sent out their directional mines, sighting them in such a way as to cover the widest area possible. Then they had pulled away some three hundred meters, and hooked back in a position that allowed them to oversee the defile in which they had left their mines. The team spread out. Each man had searched for what he considered the best available firing position, making sure that there were at least five meters distance between each commando, then they had settled down to wait.   
  
Then suddenly, Jera heard disruptors fire, and saw green and blue flashes burn through the air. He opened a channel to Hammer-1, the leader of Team Six.  
  
'Hammer-1, this is Leader. Sitrep,' he yelled, demanding a situation report.   
  
'Leader, Hammer-1. The enemy has detected us and opened fire,' a female voice answered.  
  
Static crackled over his headphones, and Jera could hear the yelled orders of Hammer-1. Then the channel got clearer, and he could hear other voices.  
  
'Leader, they bring in Jem H'Adar reinforcements!'  
  
'Allright Hammer-1, pull back. Proceed according to plan.'  
  
'Roger that, Strike-Leader. Getting out of here. Tanel, Surak, cover us!'  
  
Jera closed the channel by touching the controls on his left arm, and opened one to the Strike-group, the twelve men and woman that lay all around him.   
  
'Strike, this is Leader. Hammer is on its way. Stand-by.'  
  
The commandos confirmed and double-checked their weapons.   
  
They didn't have to wait long.   
  
A sudden roar filled the air, and some fractions of a second later, Jera saw six narrow pillars of fire, rising into the air, and coming nearer. The stub-wings of their suits allowed Team six to pass the minefield safely, by simply lofting over it. When they landed again, on the safe side, they spread out and took their positions.  
  
A slight flicker of movement caught Jera's attention  
  
There. At the edge of the killing zone. A pale hand wrapped itself around an outjutting spur of granite. Slowly, cautiously, the Jem H'Adar belonging to that hand leaned around the rock, as though some sixth sense told him that he was standing on the edge of mortal danger. For long seconds, he scanned the area, the rifle in his hand tracking back and forth across the gap.   
  
He's not going for it, Kramer thought, as the warrior stubbornly refused to leave the shelter of the rock. Resting the weapon's handle against his shoulder, Jera brought his high-tech Gauss rifle in line with his enemy. Specially designed for DEST, the silenced N-5, was not as destructive as normal energy weapons, but relatively silent, and completely invisible. It used a series of powerful electromagnets to accelerate a hardened steel spike to more than twice the speed of sound. The projectile penetrated every normal body armor, and could even break through a Nighthawk, if the shot was placed in just the right spot, the Visor.   
  
Jem H'Adar cloth was not a problem.  
  
The weapon interfaced smoothly with the targeting circuits built in his battle armor, bringing a bright scarlet cross hair to life in front of his eyes. Carefully, he sighted the crosshair exactly between the Jem H'Adar's eyes, and began to depress the trigger.  
  
Before the weapon fired, the soldier moved. Jera, caught off-guard by this sudden movement, let off the N-5's trigger. Still with infinite caution, the Jem H'adar stepped into the defile. His weapon swung from side to side, indicating that the soldier behind it was still alertly searching the area for any possible threat. Seconds later, another Jem H'Adar carefully stepped into the nekekami's killing zone. And another. And another. Soon, a full twenty-five of the fearsome Dominion warriors were creeping across the defile. If the Spirit Cats waited any longer, the leading warrior would already be out of the killing zone. Taking careful aim, Jera leveled his weapon at the third of the Jem H'Adar. If the Dominion troopers followed their typical infantry doctrine, the first two were simple grunts. The third probably was the commander. Placing the glowing croos hair just one or two centimeters ahead of the moving target, Jera took a half breath and squeezed the trigger.   
  
A silent crack filled the air, as the projectile of his weapon was accelerated to Mach2, and send on its way. It penetrated the Jem H'Adar's skull with an ugly breaking noise, and he fell. He was dead before he hit the ground.  
  
Before the startled warriors could react, the defile blew up in their faces. Jera's single shot had been the signal to initiate the ambush. The team's demolitions expert had done his work well. The directional mines all fired at once, filling the shadowy trench with smoke and thousands of high-velocity flechettes.   
  
The darts ripped through the soft flesh of everything organic.  
  
But when Jera saw that half of the Jem H'Adar were still standing, he emptied his five-shot magazine into the defile, then yanked the empty clip from his weapon's receiver and slammed a fresh magazine home.   
  
As he leveled his weapon again on search for new targets, Jera heard the hisses of multiple Dominion blasters being fired. One of his soldiers virtually disappeared under the brute energy of seven energy beams. The man-made meteorshower of energy moved then to the left, where Private Sina was crouching in a shallow hole. The energy beams ripped through his armor as though it were made of a cardboard.   
  
The Private collapsed heavily and didn't move again.   
  
Jera peered closely at the end of the defile, and activated his grenade launcher. A series of three Photon grenades quickly closed the distance, and bathed the area in a bright, blinding light. When he dared look again, five Jem H'Adar soldiers were dead. But from the flash of the explosion, a single soldier had survived, and had approached his position, a blaster in his left hand.  
  
Distantly, as though he were watching a recording of the scene rather than actually living through it, Jera noticed that the soldier's right arm dangled lifelessly from his body, only held in place by some remains of what had once been muscle tissue. He was now close enough to the Major's position to attack him in a rush, and probably his wound was not serious enough to keep him from killing a Romulan.   
  
Fortunately, Jera's lifelong commando training held true. The gaping muzzle of the rifle had followed his gaze. Twice he jerked the weapon's trigger. The warrior convulsed and died, as the iron slugs ripped through his body. But the two projectiles couldn't stop the momentum of his attack; the giant warrior-behemoth fell, and through the sheerest of luck, Jera had rolled to his left in time to keep the falling body from crushing him underneath it.   
  
Then the infrared image in his visor whited out.   
  
Jera cursed, rolled over and switched to visible light as he did.   
  
And then he saw, for the first time, the effects of DEST's newest infantry weapon.  
  
A savage fire burned at the western end of the defile. In the glare of the petrochemical flames, he could see the shapes of the last four Jem H'Adar soldiers, flailing their arms across their bodies, in a vain attempt to extinguish the burning, jellied fuel that was roasting them alive.  
  
The new weapon, ironically named Inferno, was a special grenade, launched from the grenade-thrower in his suit. On impact, it split up, and released a glueing fluid, which immediately started to burn, as soon as it came in contact with oxygen. The liquid glued to everything and everyone, and was virtually impossible to extinguish.   
  
Jera couldn't take the cries of the dying.  
  
He released each of them with a well aimed shot through the head.  
  
A man-sized shape staggered towards him, black against the bright glare of the ravaging fire. It was Sub-Commander Naraht, his deputy.  
  
'Report,' Jera asked.  
  
'A Jem H'Adar got Nia's shoulder with his disruptor, but he'll live,' Naraht barked, as he he hauled Jera to his feet. 'Tal broke her leg.'  
  
'How did that happen?'  
  
'Apparently, some Dominion grunt got Talina's jumpset when she tried to get away so we could use the Infernos. She touched down pretty hard. But the combat armor has pumped steroids into her, and she still can fight. Nia can't.  
  
Sina is dead, as is Vyiuh. And so will be if we don't get moving now. These Toads have some buddies, and they wouldn't like what we did to their friends. We detected another platoon some hundreds of meters away. But they have disappeared now.'  
  
'Alright,' Jera answered, sadness tainting his voice as he gazed down the length of the defile where his men lay, just as they had been killed. There was no time to bury them, and neither he nor anyone of his teams could be burdened with their bodies.  
  
'Contact the Colonel. We better get Nia off this planet. The rest: we better get moving! That other platoon is probably headed at the camp.'  
  
Speaking quietly, more to himself than to Naraht, he promised the dead that he'd come back and take them both home. Then without another word, he turned his back on the still flickering flames and started walking.  
  
'Ryan's gonna need some help.'  
  
***  
  
Ryan did.  
  
When they had seen the Jem H'Adar platoons going on search for intruders, and later when he had heard explosions, Ryan had ordered his troops to advance. Their NightHawk suits electronically blurred their outlines to a point that it seemed as if the air had suddenly come to violent life. Two sentries they had encountered had been terminated by snipers using their Thunderstroke Gauss rifles, similar in design to the Railgun. Ryan knew the cracks he heard when they were fired were actually miniature sonic booms, caused by the projectiles. Though they sounded loud against the stillness of the night, he knew that they were relatively silent, a mere ninety decibels, about the noise level of a busy street.   
  
Some hundred meters from the shields, the Foxes took cover behind a large rock. Ian peered around a corner for two seconds, then withdrew his head again.   
  
'The guards at the mining site have all gathered near the entry of the mine. They seem to be fascinated by Jera's little fire.'  
  
Ryan nodded.  
  
'Any suggestions?' he asked.   
  
'Blow them up!' B'Elanna prompted.  
  
Ian shook his head.   
  
'They're too close to the mine. If we use the grenades, we risk blowing up the entrance.'  
  
'We're running out of time people,' Ryan said, consulting his chronometer. 'Allright. Blackhearts. You stay here and take out the guars on the towers. Aim well; first shot must kill, or we may have problem at our hands. Ian, you take Cranston and Cox with you and blow up the guard's barracks. The rest is with me. We'll get the Cardis at the mine. Blackhearts, if you see that we have problem, fire.' He looked at B'Elanna.  
  
'Lieutenant Torres, you'll stay here.'  
  
'Are you out of your mind?'   
  
'Keep your voice down! No offense, Lieutenant, but you're no Fox, and this could get quite dangerous.   
  
B'Elanna was about to protest, but Ryan turned away, pointed at Ian and over the rock, then he and the remaining six agents stepped away and kneeled some meters away. Ryan gave Ian the thumbs-up sign.   
  
Ian peered around the corner and held three fingers up. Then two. One.   
  
'Go!Go!Go!'  
  
Simultaneously, the four snipers raised their weapons, took a second's aim, and fired. The second four shots cracked, smoke appeared and a mighty roar started behind them. Thrusted high in the sky by their powerful jumpjets, Ryan and his team flew across the terrain and landed inside the perimeter. Five seconds later, Ian too was on his way.   
  
When he landed next to the guards' barracks, Ian saw that the Watch had aimed well. Four Jem H'Adar corpses lay in the dirt.  
  
'Cox. Cranston. Go and man the towers.'  
  
The two men nodded, and were off. They would warn the rest if one of the Jem H'Adar troops came back.  
  
Now alone, Ian ran over to the barracks. He took doggy-bag he carried over his shoulder and placed it against one of the building's walls. Inside the bag were ten pounds of C-89, a deadly explosive. Those ten pounds would be enough to transform the building in a smouldering heap of ashes and debris. From the bag, he grabbed two fuses, and sticked them into the explosives. He grabbed a tricorder from the bag, got up, and ran away. When he had reached a safe distance, he opened the tricorder, and pressed the alpha button.  
  
And in a giant explosion, the building collapsed and was gone.  
  
'Contact! Contact!' yelled Jerry Cranston from the right tower. Then a phaser hiss, static cracked, and the channel broke up.  
  
Ian turned quickly, and was just in time to see a wave of grey uniforms rush into the camp.   
  
'Sir!' Cox cried. 'Cranston is dead. I count twenty-five to thirty Jem H'Adar. We have to - aaargh!'  
  
Ian looked up and saw the corpse of Cox falling from the tower and slam to the ground.   
  
'Damn!'  
  
Putting up a fight, alone, against thirty Jem H'Adar was suicide.   
  
So Ian quickly withdrew into another building, and locked the door.  
  
It was dark, only the light shining from a small window illuminated the room. A large row of beds was lined up against the wall, and at the far end of the room, Ian saw the entrance to a turbolift.  
  
'Who are you?' somebody yelled.  
  
Shit!   
  
Ian lunged to his left, rolled over,and came to his knees behind a small bed, his rifle leveled and aimed in the direction of the female voice.   
  
On his infra-red display, he saw two figures.  
  
By blinking at the corresponding glyph on his helmet's display, Ian ordered the computer to identify.  
  
Bajoran. Human.   
  
Still kneeling behind the bed he asked, 'Are you prisoners?'  
  
Totally unexpectedly, the woman started shrieking.  
  
'You're here to save us!' they both yelled in unison.  
  
Then the woman hugged the other prisoner. 'Tom, we're finally getting out of here!'  
  
WLAM!  
  
Ian turned his head. There was a large dent in the heavy door.  
  
WLAM!  
  
Another one.  
  
Are the bastards trying to walk through the door, or what?  
  
He pointed at the two prisoners. 'Hide somewhere,' he said, then stood up and pressed himself against the wall next to the door.  
  
For what seemd an eternity, the unknown soldier continued to maul the door, until it finally broke apart.  
  
The room was bathed in the orange-glowing light of a fire.   
  
Toc  
  
The soldier steeped into the room.  
  
Toc  
  
Ian's infrared display was partly blinded by the heat of the fire, but he didn't have time to switch to visible light.   
  
The head of the soldier appeared.  
  
With a powerful strike, Ian slammed the stock of his rifle against the side of his enemy's head. He was surprised to hear a metallic sound.   
  
The blast caused the soldier to lose his balance, and the figure fell to the ground.   
  
Finally, Ian switched his visor mode.  
  
In the orange light from outside, he saw a NightHawk suit lying at his feet.  
  
He took a sharp breath. 'Oh, no!'  
  
Wondering what had happened, he stepped outside.   
  
The ground was covered with Cardassian and Jem H'Adar corpses, and occasionnally a NightHawk combat gear.   
  
He let his gaze wander across the battlefield, and soon it became obvious what had happened. DEST had turned up and together, the two units had liberated the camp. He looked at Mount Szabo, and saw Lieutenant Torres and the remaining Foxes approach the camp.  
  
Damn, who the hell have I knocked out? he wondered.  
  
He kneeled beside the motionless body, and began unfastening the helmet.   
  
With the hiss of escaping air and pressure, the helmet came off, and he lifted it over the commando's head.   
  
'Sweet Jesus Christ, no!'  
  
***  
  
'Status report,' Colonel Sela asked when she entered the Salatrel's bridge.   
  
'Our scanners have picked up a single Jem H'Adar capital ship. It has entered the system 3 minutes ago, and is now heading in our direction,' Varel, her first officer reported.  
  
'Have they detected us?'  
  
'No sir. The cloaking device is working within normal parametres.'  
  
'The Federation ship is without crew. Could their cloak be defective?'  
  
'Scanning. The Federation ship's cloak is intact, sir,' Commander Varel said, looking up from her consoles. 'I don't think they know we're here sir.'  
  
In front of her face, the fingertips of Sela's right hand connected with those of her left. 'Allright. There could be other ships here, so it would be foolish to drop our cloak. If they beam down to the surface, or detect us, we will destroy them.'  
  
'But sir, we have to...*beep beep*...They have activated their transporters!'  
  
'What's going on over there Varel?'  
  
'They have beamed two persons from the surface to their ships.'  
  
Sela looked at the view-screen.   
  
'Sir, they are...the ship has gone to warp!'  
  
When her CO did not react, Varel left from behind her console and kneeled beside the Colonel's chair.   
  
'What actions are we going to take Sang-Jian-Jun?'`she asked, using Sela's Romulan title for emphasis.  
  
Sela ran her tongue over her lips. 'None.'  
  
'But Colonel! We have to...'  
  
'I said no!'  
  
Varel looked at her, not understanding.   
  
She's a good soldier, Sela thought. But thinking is not her strong side.   
  
'If we pursue, or take any other drastic actions, the nekekami and 14 Int will be unprotected. It could well be a trap.'   
  
She shook her head.  
  
'No Varel. We will stay. Send a coded message to Admiral Haze on SB89 and inform him of what happened.'  
  
'Yes. Sir.'  
  
***  
  
Dry, dirty smoke drifted thickly across the battlefield.  
  
The destroyed buildings were still smoldering, and the smell of death and burned flesh, almost tangible hung over the hastily errected camp.  
  
B'Elanna Torres wandered across the camp, searching for a certain Thomas Eugene Paris.  
  
Instead, distracted by a tall, asian-looking man, apparently searching someone too, she bumped into a tall Bajoran female.  
  
She turned and started to apologize, but broke off, when she saw the Bajoran's face. Her eyes narrowed.  
  
'I'm sorry, I...don't we know each other?'  
  
'I don't think so, but...now that you mention it...you seem somehow familiar.'  
  
'Yeah. Must be some weird kind of déja-vu.'  
  
'Yeah.'  
  
They looked at each other for a while, but memory refused to set in.  
  
Finally, the Bajoran offered her her hand.  
  
'Glad to meet you. I am Ro...'  
  
'Laren,' another voice finished for her.   
  
B'Elanna started when she heard the voice, and she could feel her heart crawling up her throat.   
  
It was him.  
  
'Right. And this,' Ro continued. 'is...'  
  
'Tom!' B'Elanna shrieked, as she spun around on her heel and flung her arms around a totally surprised Tom Paris' neck.   
  
The momentum of her movement sent both of them to the ground.  
  
'Exactly,' a confused Ro Laren murmured.  
  
Eventually, Tom found out who exactly was cutting of his respiration, and they were lying in the mud, hugging madly, occasionnally kissing, rarely breathing, and subspiciously eyed by Ro Laren and pretty much everyone who was near enough to actually see what was going on.   
  
***  
  
'Look at them.'  
  
Talina turned her head, and saw two figures, rolling around in the mud, hugging and kissing.  
  
While she normally would be upset about such a lack of discretion, this time she smiled.  
  
'They certainly look happy...together.'  
  
'Yeah. I had to babysit her on our approach to the camp. Bloody pain in the butt,' Ian Malenkov remarked, he too, smiling.  
  
He folded the tricorder together again, and began assorting the medical instruments in the First-Aid MedKit.  
  
'Well, mylady,' he said when he was done. 'Your leg is healed. If you have anymore problems with it, take two units of Delzarin and contact me in the morning.'  
  
'Thank you.'  
  
She rubbed her leg with one hand, than used the other to take Ian's, and kissed it. 'But I think, I'll let some medic check it when we get back.'  
  
Ian shook his head, disappointment on his face, but laughter in his voice.   
  
'No trust. Hmpf. Those youngsters.'  
  
'I'm older than you are. About twenty years at least.'  
  
Ian shrugged, but looked away.   
  
'What?'  
  
He eyed her subspiciously. 'You could have told me that you're a Spirit Cat.' She raised her eyebrows. 'I mean, my best guess was Tal Shiar, but...'  
  
He stopped. 'Don't look at me like that.'  
  
'Well, you could have told me you were a Rabid Fox too, after all.'  
  
A smile appeared on Malenkov's face.   
  
'Touché,' he said, and after another brief consideration of the whole situation, shrugged and extended his arms. 'Come here.'  
  
Talina of the House of Imarra felt strangely content and smiled, as she settled back into his waiting arms and snuggled up to him.   
  
Ian Malenkov kissed her temple, and they continued to watch the other, re-united couple in the camp, who was, unsurprisingly, still kissing and hugging.  
  
***  
  
The day after the liberation of the prison camp, two black-clad figures moved in the darkness, walking up a soft, grassy slope, and stood, under the branches and leafs of an old and mighty tree. Both of the figures were clad in black trousers and turtlenecks, and both were armed.  
  
They kissed.  
  
When their lips parted again, B'Elanna pulled back softly, and leant against the cold trunk of the tree  
  
'What is it?' the man asked, slowly approaching his companion.  
  
B'Elanna bit her lower lip, a thing she hadn't done for a very long time, and turned her head – eyes glistening with wetness - towards  
  
her companion, Tom Paris. The look she gave him, made him wince; the emotions displayed in her eyes tore at his heart. Abruptly, she spread her arms and waved him to approach. With a quick step, he closed the physical distance, and he could feel her fling her arms around him.   
  
With a sudden, surprising, energy, Tom gripped her and pressed her body against his, as tightly as he could. He could feel her respond in the same fashion, but did not speak, not even when he felt the fingernails of her right hand which pressing his face against hers, rip across the soft flesh of his neck. He remained silent, even then, deciding to let his body, his actions 0speak for himself.  
  
He could feel wetness spreading on his left cheek and he was surprised, even more because he knew she was crying. He responded by tightening his hold on her, and he could even better feel her sobs against his face.   
  
'What is it?' he repeated, softly whispering in her ear.  
  
For what seemed an eternity, B'Elanna said nothing.   
  
Behind his back, she opened her eyes.  
  
'You don't know how good this feels,' she whispered. 'You don't know how afraid I was that I might never again have the chance to do this.'   
  
Behind his back, she traced a finger through the night sky.  
  
'That night, yesterday, I watched men and women die. I saw errant bolts of phaser fire burn through the air, all the while waiting for one to find me.'  
  
She shuddered heavily.  
  
'Klingons aren't supposed to be afraid.'  
  
Tom opened his mouth in protest, but couldn't say anything, as B'Elanna softly put a finger over his lips.  
  
She drew back from his embrace, and hugged her arms around herself.  
  
'I have been on dangerous missions before, but I have never been so terrified in my whole life. In my fear, I sought refuge in my memories of you, Tom. I recalled our kiss on Voyager, how it made me feel inside, and how safe I felt in your arms. I remembered our time together, our laughter, our sorrow and the sharing.  
  
And then I realized that I wasn't afraid of the mission...but of you,' she whispered.  
  
'What are you saying?' Tom asked confusedly.  
  
B'Elanna looked up at him frightfully, making Tom shiver.  
  
'When you were reported MIA, I felt terrible. I thought it was my fault that you were gone, that somehow you wanted to show off in front of me. Harry talked me out of that fortunately, but...  
  
I didn't know if you still were alive or...' She broke off.  
  
'That's why I insisted in joining this mission Tom, I wanted to see it for myself. I was afraid that you might be dead, but I was terrified of the idea that you were still alive, but not be able to forgive me, for all those times I turned you down, and when I treated you badly.   
  
I care more about you than you might think, Tom, and I was terrified of the idea that I might find you here, but you could not find it in your heart to forgive me, and that I would lose you again. I...'  
  
She stopped, and bent her head, looking at the ground of the hill they stood on.   
  
Tom reached a hand out toward her, then drew her close and enfolded her in his arms.  
  
'I wish I had been there to calm your fears.'  
  
He paused.  
  
'I nearly died in that prison, B'Elanna. When they tortured me, I saw my whole life, passing in front of me. When I thought they were going to kill me, I looked back and I said goodbye...a goodbye I had never before been able to say. I let it all go. I only held on to one thing; the image of your sweet face. If I was going to die, that would be enough. But you gave me a reason to stay alive. How could I love that much and not forgive?'  
  
Tom could feel her arms tighten around him.   
  
B'Elanna looked up at him, eyes wide, and kissed him on the lips.  
  
When they separated again, breathless, B'Elanna leaned against his chest.   
  
'Tom, I...I have had dreams about you – us – lately, and...' She looked up at him uncertainly. 'I...I think I love you,' she whispered, running the inside of her hands up and down his cheeks, the fear of rejection showing in her eyes.   
  
He smiled. 'And I, you, B'Elanna.'  
  
Tom leaned his head forward to kiss her throat. He drank in the scent of her body, and felt her dark hair tickle the back of his hand, as he caressed her cheek. His hand wandered down her spine; underneath her black turtleneck, she felt warm and soft, slender and strong.  
  
Bringing his head up, he kissed the point of her chin, then looked in her eyes.   
  
'B'Elanna, I can't. Not...,' he breathed in her ear, but when she looked at him seductively, it took all his willpower not to lean over again, and smother her mouth with kisses.  
  
But the pain-implant in his chest, last remnant of his captivity, still ached, and that gave him some clarity of mind.  
  
'Believe me,' he said, 'when I tell you that I've thought the same thoughts, dreamt the same dreams. In that prison, I've revived our time together, and woven it in countless fantasies. You gave me a reason to survive the Cardassians, thanks to you I am still alive. I want you more than I want anything else, but I cannot. Not here; not now.' He closed his eyes.  
  
B'Elanna rested her head against his upper chest and looked up at him. 'Then why come here?' she asked, smiling faintly.   
  
Is it just my imagination, or is she actually pouting at me?  
  
Tom's blue eyes opened and sparkled.  
  
'New memories for new dreams.'  
  
B'Elanna laughed softly, showing her perfect white teeth.  
  
'Yet another reason to love you, Thomas Paris,' she purred. 'Some people barely dare to dream. But you, you dare to plan for your dreams.'  
  
'Plan for our dreams,' he corrected. 'If this were just for me alone, I would not be so bold.'  
  
'Oh, you're too good for me,' she teased. Tom held her face tightly against his.  
  
'Yet some new memories,' he whispered. 'The press of your body against mine, feeling your breath on my neck, inhaling the scent of you. Enough for a lifetime of dreams.'  
  
B'Elanna stood there, her eyes closed, enjoying the moment. She knew she would fall asleep before long, if they stayed like this, but the time being, she didn't care too much. For a few, wonderful, minutes, they just stood there, holding each other.  
  
But then distant noises of a raging battle penetrated their shared silence, and they saw shadows moving quickly among the stars.  
  
B'Elanna knew what they were, Assault Fighters of a crack Romulan unit, clad in the impenetrable and radiation-absorbing coat of micro-diffracted carbon, black as the void between the stars.  
  
Announcing itself with only a slight roar, one of the Romulan fighters rushed over the hill Tom and B'Elanna stood on. The deadly machine flew over them, at less than hundred feet, and was quickly out of sight, but the speed and the height at which the pilot flew such a thing, impressed Tom. For a minute he also saw the shape of the fighters.  
  
As far as he could see them, they were shaped slightly bird-like, their wings, angled forwards, forming the by far largest part of the fighter. They barely consisted of more then wings, engines, cockpits, and weapons.  
  
The fighter which had just passed them, suddenly jerked upwards, climbing to an altitude of at least 500 feet, then dove off again, firing its above the surface, the pilot intercepted his dive, and, steadying his flight, climbed again to what seemed to be his cruise altitude, approximately 300 feet.   
  
Tom, who knew how difficult such a maneuver was, could but admire the pilot's skills.   
  
But when the tree next to them was struck by an errant phaser beam, and split in two, B'Elanna and Tom decided that it would perhaps be wiser to admire the view from a more distant point.  
  
Ducking all the way, they turned and ran for the secured infantry positions.   
  
***  
  
The small counter-offensive the Dominion launched, was rapidly fought back. The alleged retreat of the commandos turned out to be a trap, and soon, most of the attackers were either dead or captured. Fierce fighting of the Romulans assured the planet's "pacification". The first phase of the Federation war-winning offensive was a full success, the White facility being completely destroyed, and even four of the lost six-man away team saved. Within four days after the assault began, and after destroying everything the Dominion could use later, the main part of the attack force had left the Corvus II system again. Only a small garrison remained. When the Romulan forces had discovered the Prisoners Camp, and liberated it, they were faced with a logistical nightmare. The necessary transport vessels to get all of the approximately five thousand prisoners would not arrive until five days, which meant that the garrison and the prisoners had to wait for two days, after the main body of the assault force had left. Only B'Elanna Torres, Tom Paris, Tuvok, Data, Dr. Crusher and Ro Laren were allowed to leave on the Romulan warships, the away-team because they were part of the mission's objective, and Ro Laren only because Tom had insisted on it. Within five more days, they arrived at StarBase89, what could be called the Federation Head Quarters in this war. To their disappointment, they learned that their respective ships had in the meantime been assigned to a larger campaign against the Dominion and, as front-line units, would not be returning soon. On his inquiry, Tom found out that his father was in charge of the campaign, onboard his flagship, the USS Voyager. Admiral Haze had been sent back to Earth, to co-ordinate with the Strategic Command.  
  
The StarFleet officers had been assigned temporal quarters on the StarBase, and it seemed as though they had to spent some time there, unable to take part in the war. Ro, Data, and Dr. Crusher longed to get back to the Enterprise, to battle the Jem H'Adar; Tuvok admitted his "wish to re-join Voyager's crew and captain".   
  
As for Tom and B'Elanna, they were prepared to leave for Voyager anytime soon, but until then, they had decided that they might as well enjoy their forced 'shore leave'. Especially Tom.  
  
After he had recovered, after bones had knitted, and flesh had healed, the barriers his re-convalescence had placed between him and B'Elanna fell away. He could still vividly recall the first night she came to him, slipping into his bed in the dark. It felt as if her body were on fire, and as she pressed against him, her warmth flowed into him. He remembered stroking her body, the flesh so flawlessly smooth that he felt self-conscious about the single scar on the right side of his chest. He had refused to let the doctor heal it with a dermal regenerator. Scars are the proof of surviving one's own stupidity, he had said, reciting an old proverb from ancient times. With a kiss and a caress, B'Elanna showed him that they meant nothing, that what mattered to her was the man inside the skin, and not the skin itself.  
  
Urgency had marked their lovemaking, each of them fearing something might tear them apart again. Little mistakes – the click of teeth, a misplaced elbow, or an obtrusive knee – prompted giggles and whispered apologies. The small mistakes kept the experience from being perfect, but they made it somewhat more intimate. Perfection would have been for the mating of two heads of states, for political reasons. Clumsy, playful and passionate was how love was meant to be shared between two people, in the dark, and that was what they aspired to be. Titles, or ranks, couldn't enhance the experience, so they were rightfully to be forgotten, like bed-clothes, in the heat of the moment.  
  
After that first time, they had spent the night together whenever they could. While they thoroughly enjoyed each other's company, their yearning to be together grew out of more than just the desire to explore the physical dimensions of the love they shared. Simple touches, midnight kisses, whispered dreams, and even tussles for possession of the bed sheets gave them the opportunity to deepen their love, and offered them a glimpse of the people they really were – underneath both their masks, and beyond the walls that had served so long to protect them from being hurt. The time they spent together outside the bedchamber further expanded on this. More then once, Tom found himself saying something or doing something he had seen shared between his parents in semi-private moments, before his mother's death. It greatly surprised him how much of his father and mother lived on in him, and yet he also saw how much he had become his own person. He identified behaviors he wanted to modify and took steps to change them and himself for the better – for B'Elanna, and for himself.  
  
Among other things, he resolved to send his father a message onboard Voyager. 


	10. Chapter 10 - Imperial Fist

Chapter 10 – Imperial Fist  
  
USS Voyager,  
  
Beyond the demilitarized Zone  
  
Cardassian Realm  
  
For the sixth time in just half an hour, the young, blonde man looked up from the screen and smiled.  
  
'...had a lot of time to think and...well, let's face it. We can't let it end like this! I talked to Suzie not long ago and she's with me. So, when you're back from that mission, we can talk. If you want to, that is. I love you. Bye.'  
  
The tiny monitor turned black for a second, then showed the StarFleet delta. Underneath it, a screen caption blinked in and out, indicating the end of the message.  
  
The door bell chirped.   
  
'Come in.'  
  
The typical hiss of the automatic door sliding apart filled the room.   
  
'Katherine. Come in. You said you wanted to talk to me?'  
  
'Yes, sir,' Janeway said as she seated herself.  
  
'Well? What can I do for you?'  
  
'It's about my crew...'  
  
'Ah. Yes?  
  
'I understand that you are in charge of that?'  
  
Paris nodded.  
  
'I have the personal assurance of the President that no charges will be pressed against the Maquis members of your crew. He looks at it as a kind of reward, and, after your log, I daresay that they have earned it.'  
  
Janeway breathed a sigh of relief.  
  
'As to the Talaxian,' Paris continued. 'he's free to join StarFleet, if so he wishes, but he'll of course have to attend StarFleet Academy. If - when – he graduates, I've arranged that he'll be transferred back to Voyager. If so he wishes.'  
  
Janeway nodded. 'And Seven?'  
  
Paris sr. stirred uncomfortably.   
  
'You will understand of course that we will have to interrogate her.'  
  
'Of course. And afterwards.'  
  
'Well, from what you and your crew have told us, she apparently has become human. Or at least partly so. Our scientists have discovered that her link to the collective was indeed severed. Personnally I don't see any reason why she shouln't be allowed to live a normal life. Of course, from her Borg knowlegde we may gain valuable information, and she will have to be prepared to work with our scientists on some occasions, but otherwise...If it is her and your wish, she can stay on Voyager. Is that acceptable for you?'  
  
'Completely.' Though she tried to keep her voice even, inside, she could have laughed with relief. This was going better than she thought  
  
'Thank you, Owen,' she said, and raised out of the chair. She turned to leave, but was halted by the Admiral's voice.  
  
'Oh and Katherine; I received a message from Thomas today…he wants to talk.'  
  
Janeway smiled.   
  
'So?'  
  
'He's my son. 4 years are a very long time, but…'  
  
***  
  
Starbase 89  
  
Sector 231  
  
She scanned the corridor for movement, from the corner of her eyes. It was an old trick, passed on to her by her father: the corners of the eye can detect motions easier than the centre, because of the lesser concentration of light receptors at the edges.   
  
No-one there.  
  
The weight of her body pushed Ian Malenkov against the cold metal of his quarter's door, and while they kissed, his left hand raised to caress her cheek, before he extended his arms and began tapping in his combination code. He had to try it several times, before he finally managed to get the five digits-long sequence right. Now if he could only reach the final confirmation button, which would open the door...His forefinger climbed up the panel, freezed only milimetres over the button, and finally pressed down. The controls gave a short beep, and the electronic impulses travelled across the circuits, until they reached their destination. The door's servo-motors took up their work, and began pulling the two parts of the door apart. From the time since he had pushed the button to the opening of the door, less then point-four seconds had passed. After another second, the door was open, and Ian stumbled inside.  
  
And stopped.   
  
***  
  
USS Voyager  
  
Indra Iri System  
  
When Admiral Paris and Captain Janeway entered the bridge, the red alert lights were on, and alarms beeping everywhere.  
  
'Report,' the old Admiral barked.  
  
Ensign Kim looked up from his station. 'We have entered the system point-five minutes ago sir. Scanners indicate one Jem H'Adar capital ship and three support vessels. Long-range sensors show a formation of two Galor-class destroyers on an intercept course.'  
  
'When will they get here?'  
  
'In about 7 minutes sir.'  
  
'Allright. Katherine...' he said, turning to Janeway.  
  
Janeway nodded, and went over to Tactical, next to Commander Chakotay, who was replacing Tuvok.  
  
She leaned over Chakotay's shoulder and studied the console.   
  
'Mister Kim,' she said. 'Inform the Ilias and the Gaelstrom that they are to follow us and proceed according to plan. All other ships are to engage the enemy.'  
  
'Aye sir.'  
  
According to plan, she thought.  
  
The Ilias and Gaelstrom were two Intrepid-class ships. When two days ago Janeway had first learned that there were actually Intrepids other than Voyager, she had felt a somewhat absurd feeling of pride. Having lived and survived so long on Voyager, she had actually grown very fond of this class, and its advantages. Now these advantages were part of the plan. The Intrepids' unique capability of descending into the atmosphere of a planet were a crucial element of the equally intrepid plan devised by StarFleet's masterminds. Team One, Voyager, Ilias, and Gaelstrom, were to enter the planet's atmosphere while the rest of the task force engaged and destroyed the enemy vessels.  
  
Such an air strike would certainly be unexpected by the Dominion troops, and the outpost's defenses would be softened up, before the main infantry force would be transported to the planet. Timing was crucial. While the three Intrepids would circle inside the atmosphere over the outpost, to bring their weapons to bear if necessary, the Zulu, a Nebula-class starship would break through enemy lines and enter orbit. Then the infantry force of two-hundred soldiers would be beamed down, to complete the operation, and to salvage any useful data they might find.  
  
'All ships are acknowlegding readiness sir,' Cakotay reported.  
  
'Very well.' Admiral Paris sat in the Captain's chair. 'Initiate attack pattern. All ships are go for invasion.'  
  
***  
  
StarBase 89  
  
When the door opened, Christopher Ryan looked up from the conversation he was just having and turned to the door. What he saw made him whince.  
  
His friend Ian rapidly snapped to attention, barked a 'sir' and tried a military palm-outward salute. His face hadn't decided yet wether it should be death-pale or tomatoe-red.  
  
Talina only stood to attention.  
  
But they both blanched.  
  
'At ease Commander,' the elder male on the couch said. 'And your companion is...'  
  
Ian looked back.  
  
'Major Talina, sir, of the Romulan Armed Forces.'  
  
The male nodded gravely. 'Pleased to meet you Major. Allow me to introduce myself. I am the President of the United Federation of Planets.'  
  
***  
  
Upper Atmosphere  
  
Indra Iri  
  
The ship shuddered again and again, when further turbulences hit Voyager. Along with the two other ships of Team One, she made her way through the thin layer of air that constituted Indra III's atmosphere.   
  
The stabilizers protested heavily, but Janeway ordered the young Lieutenant to hold the course. At over five miles per seconds, the ships screamed through the air, and finally broke throught the layer of clouds. When its course brought it over the Dominion outpost, fiery lances of pure, orange light cut throught the air and hit their targets. The ground below the StarFleet vessels errupted in a series of giant explosions, and, flying at only at a rough fifteen thousand feet of height, Team one began to circle its prey, constantly firing and hitting the defensive perimeters of the outpost.   
  
When the sensors indicated that all targets were eliminated, Owen Paris sent the signal that would bring the Zulu in orbit. Three minutes later, the Intrepids turned away and were off to their landing zone, five miles away. The infantry force was beamed down, and the final slaughter began.  
  
***  
  
StarBase 89  
  
After Talina was gone, and some colour had returned to Ian's face, the President began the introducing.   
  
Ian of course knew Ryan and Captain Shelby, and greeted each with an amicable nod. Then the President pointed at the last person, a tall man in his late thirties, clad in black trouser and jacket, with a black leather belt around his waist. A small, bronze badge was attached to his left chest, a three-armed candleholder engraved on it.   
  
'And this, Commander Malenkov,' the President said. 'is Mister...'  
  
'Murdock,' Ian growled at the man.   
  
Despite himself, Ryan grinned.  
  
Murdock smiled coldly. 'Nice meeting you too, commander,' he said.  
  
The President nodded. 'Mister Murdock is of Section 31, as you should know.'  
  
'Yes sir.'  
  
'There seems to be some kind of hostility between Mister Murdock's and your organization, Commander. Captain Ryan here reacted just like you did. Frankly, I don't understand why. Your units are similar enough.'  
  
Ian glanced at Ryan, who nodded.  
  
'That's not true, sir. Not entirely. The Fox is a purely military unit. We do not assassinate civilians,' he hissed, glaring at Murdock.  
  
'No. Only military personnel.'  
  
Ian opened his mouth in protest, but was cut off by the President.  
  
'Gentlemen, please. This is not the place for such arguments. There are more serious matters that need to be discussed.'  
  
Ian gritted his teeth. 'Yes sir.'  
  
'Good. Please, sit down.' The President nodded at Murdock, who stood up and started wandering across the room.   
  
'Captain, Commander, I don't need to tell you that all you're about to hear is highly classified. During your mission on Corvus II, the Romulan Warbird picked up a Dominion ship, who entered the system. Two persons were transported from the surface to the ship.' He folded his hands in front of his face, and paused. 'A day earlier, one of my operatives onboard this station picked up a transmission into Cardassian space. It was carefully hidden, and used the station's deflector arrays as antenna. The technical details will hardly interest you, but it seems obvious that it was recorded and sent by a Dominion or Cardassian spy. We were able to track down the source of the signal to the Officer's Quarters on deck 5. It is highly probable that the subject we are talking about, the traitor, is one of our own high officers and that it was also probably him who gave away the plans for out first assault on Corvus II, which resulted as you know in a desaster. We have a subspicion on who our traitor might be, but as yet we don't have solid proof. The trouble is, our suspect is on his way back to Earth by now.'  
  
Ian couldn't believe his ears. A traitor in StarFleet? Impossible. Unthinkable. But then, it may have not been a real StarFleet officer, no human or Vulcan or...  
  
'A Changling?' Ryan asked.  
  
Murdock nodded. 'We have to assume it.'  
  
Ian shook his head violently. 'That's impossible. As far as I know, you personnally have introduced regular blood tests.'  
  
Murdock looked uneasy. 'Those tests can be faked.'  
  
Silence settled over the conference.  
  
Then Ryan asked, 'So? Why haven't you killed the traitor yet?'  
  
Murdock looked at him strangely. 'As I said, we only have a subspicion, and still need to acquire real evidence. It wouldn't be very useful going around shooting Admirals who might prove irreplacable in the war. No, until we have the solid evidence we need, someone has to be on Earth, on constant stand-by, someone who can take over that job, as soon as it is safe to do so. And, Commander Malenkov, we want you.'  
  
'Me?' Ian yelled. 'Why me? Why don't you take one of your own people Murdock?'  
  
'The few operatives I have are either spread out along the front, or...currently assigned to a mission of high importance. I don't have any men left. And you don't have much of a choice. We will insert you on Earth, where you will, for the time being, just wait. You'll get an appartment near StarFleet Command in San Francisco, a new identity, a new life. You will leave the investigational work to us, and lead a perfectly normal life on Earth. You will do absolutely nothing subspicious or unusual, until we send word to you.'  
  
Ian's hands were working on his temples, his ellbows on his knees.   
  
'Yes, but why me?'   
  
  
  
Murdock pulled a card out of one of his pockets and held it up in his hand. He sent it flying through the air, and it landed in Ian's lap.   
  
  
  
'You're the perfect choice.'  
  
Ian picked up the card and looked at it.   
  
A greyish-white skull in front of a black heart gazed back at him.  
  
***  
  
'Sir!'  
  
A young soldier dressed in green combat fatigues snapped to attention when Admiral Paris, his aides, and Voyager's command staff approached the smoldering ruins of what had once been a Dominion command post.   
  
'At ease son,' Owen told the young man. He glanced at the soldier's name tag. 'Mister...Briggs?'  
  
'Sir.'  
  
'Leftenant Briggs; would you tell me where I can find Commander Matthews?'  
  
'The commander is inside the building sir. He's awaiting you sir.'  
  
Paris nodded. He murmured a 'Thank you son' as he walked past the soldier, closely followed by his staff.   
  
The building's door had been blasted out by the infantry, and the endo-steel construction was still smouldering. Paris ducked under some loose-hanging cables, and found himself in a dark, smelly room. Where it was illuminated by the flashlights on his wrist, Paris saw the dark stains where phaser beams had hit the building's walls, instead of their target.   
  
Muffled voiced were coming from a corridor on the opposite side of the room. As Paris approached their source, the voices became louder, until he finally saw a tall man, whom he suspected to be Commander Matthews, the infantry commander, talking to a group of soldiers. When he was finished, they saluted and he nodded them away.   
  
Paris cleared his throat, and the Commander turned and snapped to attention when he noticed the rank pips on Paris' collar.  
  
'Admiral!'  
  
'At ease Commander,' Paris said and held out his hand.  
  
Matthews wiped his own hand clean on his trousers, before taking the admiral's.  
  
'Well, let's see then,' Paris said. 'What have you got for me, Matthews?'  
  
'Well sir, fighting was pretty fierce down here, and the local Vortha destroyed most valuable data on his personal computer before blowing his brains out. For the rest, rather everything down here has taken pretty much damage during the operation, and we weren't able to salvage much. But...' He waved at a guard in the far corner of his room, which in turn grabbed a squarish object, covered by a rough cloth from a table and came hurrying towards them. Matthews took the thing from the man, and sent him off again. He unfolded the cloth, and beneath it was a display-like device. On its backside, the covering plastic had been taken off, and its electronical insides were revealed, cables dangling from it, and another squarish object had been attached to some of the cables.  
  
'See, we have found this. When the corporal who found it entered that room, it was still running, but apparently it was encrypted, or in some strange language we can't understand. The whole technical equipment here is very unstable, and we opted to at least save this thing here, and we seperated it from Main Power. It's now running on batteries.'  
  
'Well done Commander. I'm sure you will be rewarded for your quick thinking there.'  
  
Matthews smiled proudly, but said nothing.   
  
'If you would now hand over that device, Commander, I will take it back to Starbase89.'  
  
'Of course.'  
  
Just as he had gripped the device, Paris' communicator beeped.   
  
He tapped it, and handed the device to one of his staff.   
  
'Paris here.'  
  
'Admiral, this is the Valar. We have picked up mulitple warp signatures. About a dozen, probably more. Possibly Jem H'Adar. They'll be in weapon's range in about 25 seconds.'  
  
'Understood, Valar. I'll return to Voyager presently. As soon as you have any definite data, contact me.'  
  
'Roger sir. They're in visual range now. Ops, go to maximum magnification...Oh no! Tactical, engage Pattern Omega One. Tell the others to open fire. Admiral Paris! We have Dominion warships here. Engaging, but...'  
  
'Captain?'  
  
No response.  
  
Paris tapped his commbadge repeatedly, but he heard only the crackle of static.  
  
Then a shrill noise, approaching.   
  
Seconds later, the room exploded into fire and noise, and the world went black. When Paris opened his eyes again, Katherine Janeway kneeled beside him, her hand on his chest.   
  
He tried to say something, but his vocal chords refused to serve. When he finally managed to utter some faint words, his voice was trembling heavily.  
  
'Our…talk…tell...him...I...'  
  
His view of Janeway faded, as tears and smoke clouded it.  
  
And then, Owen Paris, aged 59, and HighAdmiral of the Federation died.  
  
*  
  
At full impulse velocity, the ships of Team one shot through Indra Iri's atmosphere. When it broke free into space, two steely-blue lances shot towards it. Its protective shields shone up, glittered, and shimmered under the effort of deflecting the energy of Dominion disruptors. Then, in turn, two torpedoes emerged simultaneously, left and right of the deflector emitter. They raced through space, and crossed the distance to its target in no time. One torpedo only hit the shields of the Jem H'Adar fighter but, weakened, the shields gave way, and the second torpedoe scored a clear hit on the left warp nacelle. The ship exploded silently.  
  
***  
  
With a silent thud, the heavy bag landed in the corner next to his quarter's door. Now with all his personnal belongings packed, and his Runabout back to Earth due in three hours, Ian Malenkov only had one thing left to do.   
  
He activated the wall-panel.  
  
'Computer. Location of Major Talina.'  
  
***  
  
'Tachyon particles are leaking into the propulsion system Captain. I don't know how long we can keep up Warp Speed.'  
  
'Understood Mister Carey. Janeway out.  
  
Chakotay leaned over to her. 'That didn't sound too good,' he said.  
  
'No. Not at all. Lieutenant Moers, how long until we cross Federation border?' she asked the young Lieutenant at the helm.  
  
'Approximatively three minutes, thirty-five seconds sir.'  
  
  
  
Janeway nodded. 'Anything on sensors Harry?'  
  
'I can't give you a precise reading ma'am. The sensor arrays were damaged pretty badly on out last target run. But as far as I can tell, we're clear of pursuers. Looks like the Dominion ships've broken up. All the Intrepids on the planet made it. Gantor and Silver Tower are destroyed. The Valar is crippled and drifting.'  
  
Janeway's face turned into solid stone, as it always did in situation of great danger.  
  
'Very well. Keep up looking Harry. Keep up looking.'  
  
*  
  
'Lieutenant?  
  
Engineer Joe Carey looked up from his console, when he heard the young Lieutenants calm voice. 'Yes Vorik, what is it?'  
  
'The tachyon particles in the warp core are reaching critical mass. We should seriously consider shutting down...'  
  
The Vulcan officer couldn't finish what he was saying, as he was violently interrupted when one of the conduits leading to the – to his – warp core ruptured. There was a flash of light, a hiss of smoke and sparks, when the ditranium metall gave way to the incredible build-up of heat and energy inside. The ship lurched forward, as it was violently brought down from Warp eight-point-five to relative zero speed in a fraction of a second, and the inertial dampeners couldn't cope with the stress.  
  
The illumination changed to red.  
  
'Janeway to Engineering.'  
  
'The tachyons are flooding the warp-core Captain!'  
  
'If you can't stabilize it, evacuate Engineering.'  
  
Joe didn't bother to acknowledge.  
  
'Vorik,' he yelled over the klaxons and alarms, 'cut power to the core.'  
  
The Vulcan's fingers hushed over his console.  
  
'I have closed all energy relais. The leak is continuing.'  
  
'Damn! Allright; everyone out! Now! Vorik you stay; we've got to neutralize the core. Try decoupling the dilithium matrix.'  
  
Joe grabbed a tricorder, and slipped under the railing surrounding the warp core. Standing in front of the tall engine, he performed his scans.  
  
'It isn't working Vorik. Try it again!'  
  
While he was still speaking, another explosion shook the ship, and he was sent hurling to the ground.   
  
When he regained consciousness, he felt a strong hand grabbing his arms and dragging him to his feet. He couldn't have been knocked out for very long, two or three seconds, time enough for the Vulcan to get over to him.  
  
'Sir,' the ensign shouted, 'the core is about to breach. We need to evacuate.'  
  
'No!' Carey struggled, but he couldn brake the Vulcan's grip on him.  
  
'Vorik, without warp core we're trepped here! We have too-'  
  
'There is no time sir. We need to leave.' Vorik dragged him along across engineering, until Carey finally managed to stand up and run himself.  
  
'Oh dammit, all right. Computer, prepare to eject the warp core. Authorization Carey Omega Nine Five Three.'  
  
When they got out into the corridor, and the door was closed and sealed behind them, Carey leaned against the wall, his hands on his knees. 'Computer,' he said. 'eject the warp core.'  
  
*  
  
On the underside of the starship Voyager, a large square hatch opened. The light from inside flooded into space and illuminated the grey hull of the vessel. An eleven meters-tall thin tube slowly drifted out of it. As soon as the sizzling end left the hatch, trailing a cloud of blue dust behind it, Voyager accelerated to full impulse.  
  
The warp core drifted through space, the blinding blue light of the matter/antimatter-reaction flashing irregularly...  
  
*  
  
'Carey to bridge.' He took a deep breath. 'We dumped the core.'  
  
*   
  
...and exploded.   
  
***  
  
'I'm leaving,' Ian said.  
  
At his words Talina turned around.  
  
'You're leaving ?' she asked. 'Where to?'  
  
'Earth. I got my orders this morning. I'm to report as an adjudant to some high-level Admiral at Fleet HQ.'  
  
'And when will you be coming back?'  
  
Ian took a deep breath. Now or never, he thought.  
  
'I won't.'  
  
'What? Wha... ?'  
  
'Not anytime soon, anyway. They're saying it's a "long-term mission", and, well, it could last a while.'  
  
Talina didn't answer, but he could see her breathing heavily.  
  
He tried to smile.  
  
***  
  
When the door opened, Ryan saw his friend enter Shuttle Bay 4, wearing a depressed look.   
  
'So?' he asked. 'How did she take it?'  
  
Ian looked up at his friend and sighed. 'Better than I would have. God, I hate this assignement, and it hasn't even started yet!'  
  
'King and Country, James.'  
  
Ian snorted. 'Oh please, mercy. I am not James Bond, and you're not Molleypenny.'  
  
'Moneypenny,' corrected Ryan.  
  
'Whatever. This isn't the movies, this is life. Besides I hate my country for taking my one and only love from me.'  
  
'And you dare accusing me of being pathetic!'  
  
'Oh but you are, my friend. Otherwise you wouldn't have come here. Christ, you've said farewell two times all ready.'  
  
Ryan shrugged. 'I'm a hopeless romantic.'  
  
'No you aren't. If you were you'd take my place and do this stuff instead of me.'  
  
Ryan smiled. 'You know I would, if I'd think it would work.'  
  
'Yes. Sure.'  
  
Ryan clapped his hands. 'Anyway, you got everything?'  
  
'Yes, yes…No, wait.' He searched his pockets, and at length he produced a small crystal, and handed it over to Ryan.  
  
'A message?'  
  
'For Talina.' Seing his friend frown, he added 'Don't worry, it won't give anything away. I've made it look like a log-entry. Would you give it to her please? Just in case…' He smiled wrily. '...in case anything happens to me.'  
  
'Of course,' Ryan said,putting into his own side-pocket. 'Now sir, if you would please follow me, your Runabout is ready for take off.'  
  
***  
  
StarBase89  
  
Operations Center  
  
Captain Schwarz looked up from his console when the face of a young officer appeared on the screen. 'Mister Malenkov,' he said. 'You are cleared for launch.'  
  
'Understood, sir,' the man replied. 'Take-off in sixty seconds.'  
  
'Acknowledged. Godspeed, Leftenant.'  
  
'Thank you, Captain. Baruni out.'  
  
*  
  
On the outside of the StarBase, a large, square hatch opened. After a short while, the lean shape of a Federation Runabout lifted itself off the deck. The forcefield glistened faintly, outlining the silhouette of the ship, as it passed through the invisible barrier. Travelling at impulse speed, the Baruni parted from the station, and reached a great enough distance to go to warp. The warp nacelles gloomed bluely, and for the shortest time, the vessel was stretched over thrice its length.   
  
Then the explosion consumed it.   
  
* 


End file.
